


You daft soppy romantic

by Fault



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Annoying Jaskier | Dandelion, Bisexual Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Erotic shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Horny Geralt, Light Angst, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fault/pseuds/Fault
Summary: A little too long in the wilderness, Geralt is sexually frustrated,  and there's no one else but Jaskier around to help with that.What follows is explicit sex, melting softness, and situational humour. Some Canon typical violence,  I try not to be too graphic though?Quote:Jaskier: "This is the strangest pillow talk I've ever had, but I like it."Feedback, suggestions,  beta and alpha readers welcome.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 169
Kudos: 529





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt can't sleep thanks to being followed around by a very flirty bard we all love. Things come to a head, so to speak.  
> ...  
> "Ow." He accuses, as Geralt grabs him by the upper arm and yanks him close, so that he can search the younger man's eyes for the truth.
> 
> "What feelings?" Geralt growls, shaking his arm.
> 
> Jaskier looks sickly and helpless as he looks back at Geralt. "Oh, you know. Bard feelings. We have so many." He says, waving it away weakly and trying in vain to squirm out of Geralt's grasp.

Jaskier wakes, a little blearily as usual, wipes the sleep from his eyes and looks around himself at the camp site, trying to piece together what is happening.

There are giant looming trees, there is day light. There is Roach tethered lightly nearby. There is a giant gargoyle of a Witcher crouched on a nearby log, looking more grumpy than usual if possible.

"You didn't wake me for my turn on watch." Jaskier says, confused.

"It's fine. I couldn't sleep anyway." Geralt says grumpily, eating cold rations straight from their wrappings. He tosses a wax paper packet of them to Jaskier. 

"You can't sleep? What's wrong? I'm the one who can't sleep when we're close to catching a monster, not you. Are you sick?" Jaskier says, annoyingly sensitive to Geralt's habits.

"No." Says Geralt firmly, heading off Jaskier's expression of mother hen concern, a habit that crops up at the silliest of times. "We just need to go find this monster and then go find a town with... a town where I can sleep."

"You... you? Want to go to town, so you can get sleep?" Jaskier scoffs, around a handful of trail mix.

Geralt says nothing.

"You're sexually frustrated." Says Jaskier, with dawning realization. "You can't sleep because you need to get your rocks off. You're hanging out for a brothel."

Geralt just grunts and continues packing up camp.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen." He crows, until Geralt turns on him. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"The great and stoic Witcher has a human craving he can't suppress. I mean, I'm a soulful romantic bard who desires every delectable beauty I meet, so much so that I'm equally sexually frustrated whether I have no one to desire at all, or whether I'm surrounded by many, and can only choose one. Everyone expects /me to be sexually frustrated. But you? He points all ten fingers at Geralt. 

"Mr 'I can track a monster a thousand miles without a moment of lost focus?' Can't sleep because of his blue balls? You have to admit that this is hilarious."

"You are trying unusually hard to make me despise your company, for someone standing so deep in a monster infested forest." Geralt gestures with both arms at the looming trees around them. 

"Come on, you'd never leave me out here alone. I'm far too handsome and debonair." Jaskier grins, his hand framing his chin. 

"Shut up."

"Besides, My pert little bottom is the only pleasant sight for miles in any direction." Jaskier says, wiggling said sweet bottom in Geralt's direction. "Unless you find a way to follow yourself around the forest all day."

"Because you are magnificent, make no mistake." Jaskier says, using his hands to frame different parts of Geralt's physique like a picture.

"Shut up." Geralt says again, more firmly.

" Mmm m Mmm. What I wouldn't give to be made of slabs of oak hard muscles like a.. a pantheonic marble statue." Jaskier poses provocatively, limbs held bent to show off his modest muscles and soft, sensuous profile.

Geralt just stands and glares with a menacing posture.

"Or would I be better as a statue of Melusine?" Jaskier asks, biting the knuckle of one index finger and tousling his hair wantonly with the other hand, head thrown back to expose the curve of his neck, his eyes half lidded in an expression of intense desire. "Imagine I'm clad only in ocean foam." He says, gesturing to his lower parts suggestively.

Geralt turns his back on the sight, tension in every line of his silhouette. "You are cruel." He spits out of the side of his mouth, then grabs his sword belt and starts to storm off into the woods.

Jaskier recoils in surprise from Geralt's vehemence. "What? Wait! I'm sorry... I'm sorry! I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"By teasing me?" Geralt says, and Jaskier notices his tension properly for the first time.

"Oh... I? .. y-you. Bollocks... Come on, really?" Geralt looks at him, and it sinks in. "I didn't, I didn't know you were interested in.. you know." He gestures vaguely at various parts of himself "Guys."

"I'm usually not. But sometimes, with the right man, or the right amount of loneliness... " Geralt says, over his shoulder, back still turned, sword belt still gripped tightly.

"Oh." Says Jaskier. "Sorry."

He continues compassionately. "I didn't mean to... Geralt, you know I'm very interested in your... continued well-being. So if you want me to help ... get you off, I will. I've had my fair share of men in my time. I admit I'm not as skilled with men as I am with ... feminine... parts, but I know my arse from my elbow, so to speak."

"Don't tease me, Jaskier. " Geralt says tiredly.

"I meant it when I said I desire /every beauty I meet, Geralt."

"The lack of beauties around here is my problem, Jaskier." Geralt says, turning around enough that Jaskier can properly read the disdain in his broadly gesturing posture.

Jaskier fiddles with a lace on his clothing, looking nervous. "I meant you, Geralt. You're breathtakingly beautiful, to me. I admit you're frequently either filthy or murderously terrifying, or both. But have you heard the ballads I've written about you? Grumpy old man that you are, I've always been ready to bed you at a moments notice, if only you asked me to."

Geralt's eyes raise to meet his. They're unreadable, swimming with a storm of emotions that don't reach down to the thin pressed line of his mouth.

Jaskier continues earnestly. "Even I am not vain enough to think you'd be attracted to me in normal circumstances. But if it would help your..." Waving ineffectually. "Situation, then have me. Any way you want. You only have to ask." 

"Why would I prefer the perpetual humiliation of you telling the world what I'm like as a sexual conquest, to the temporary frustration I have now." Geralt says harshly.

"That hurts.. Geralt." Jaskier runs a distressed hand through his floppy hair. "I would never.. I mean, I do admit that I'm overly chatty when drunk. But even if I did let something slip, who'd believe a drunk bard? We're always making things up...And... and I'd never purposely hurt you like that."

Geralt grunts noncommittally. 

"I understand if that's not good enough for you. But I truly only want to help. Would you at least like some privacy for a while? I can go compose a ballad, over there... somewhere." He says, waving indistinctly and stumbling over a fallen branch after only two steps, catching his fall against the tree trunk. He tries to make it look like he did it on purpose, to acquire a rakish lean.

Geralt points a finger at Jaskier. "Do not leave my sight. I don't need to rescue you on top of everything else. "

"You mean I shouldn't act like a damsel being saved by the big, strong, sexy Witcher?" He clasps his hands in front of himself, bats his wide blue eyes and bites his lower lip, innocently coquetish.

"Jaskier." Geralt spits out, like it's a curse.

Jaskier jumps. "Sorry. I can't help it. I just really want you to want me back."

Geralt takes a deep calming breath, then faces him and says.  
"I do. That's the problem. Normally I could just absorb myself in my work until the next whore house I run into, but you're here. Singing love songs and talking breathlessly about the dawn chorus and... being sexy, " Jaskier preens at that. "and I can't switch my libido off." Geralt says. 

"You want me." Jaskier's face blooms into joy. 

"Do not tell a soul." Geralt warns.

"Not a soul. This secret will warm only my heart, to my dying day. Geralt of Rivia would fuck me, but only if I was the last person on earth."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

"I am. After annoying you with my company and my ballads and... everything about me, I could cry happy tears knowing that at least some part of you wants me around, even if it's only your lonely cock."

Geralt scowls, but without much conviction.

Jaskier turns away from him, and continues very quietly, looking for something out in the landscape, but not finding it. "And no, I will not stop acting light-hearted about it, because if I don't then I might accidentally tell you all of my feelings for you, and then where'd we be?" 

"What did you say?" Geralt steps close to him, piercing gaze demanding the truth. .

Jaskier startles like a rabbit, and tries to get away. "Should I go mushrooming again? It was such fun last time. I promise I won't touch the ones with the pretty red cap and white spots this time." 

Geralt strides up quickly. "Ow." Jaskier accuses, as Geralt grabs him by the upper arm and yanks him close, so that he can search the younger man's eyes for the truth.

"What feelings?" Geralt growls, shaking his arm.

Jaskier looks sickly and helpless as he stares back at Geralt. "Oh, you know. Bard feelings. We have so many." He says, waving it away weakly and trying in vain to squirm out of Geralt's grasp.

"Jaskier. "

"Maybe there are berries, if you don't want mushrooms?" he says with false brightness.

"Jaskier!"

"Or.. or root vegetables?" He smiles wanly, until even that falls from his face with lovesick fear under the power of Geralt's glare.

"The last thing you need in your life is someone needing you, right?" He says weakly.

"Fuck." Geralt turns his face away to give himself enough air to compose himself. Jaskier squirms again, and Geralt swings his inhuman gaze back, stilling Jaskier's struggles instantly.

Jaskier's nerve breaks, and the truth starts spilling from him. "One of my greatest fears is that you'll die far from me, from anyone. Alone. And there'll be no one to sing your last song. To mourn you. That'll I'll never know for sure whether you're dead, or you just didn't want to bother saying goodbye to me, and left. "

"I can't love how you love." Jaskier says.  
Geralt stares off unto the distance, unreadable.

"And I can't keep anyone I fall for anyway, and I know that it's my fault more often than not. I don't want to.. I'm not asking to have a relationship with you. Because even if we both wanted that, I know it wouldn't work. I just didn't want to lie to you about my feelings anymore."

"But you are... scary, and I care.. care about you deeply." 

"Saying I'm attracted to you is crass, and shallow compared to how I really feel. But you already leave me far too often for my liking, which means I didn't want to scare you off with all of... This, either. "

Geralt hmms quietly.

"So.. I flirted with you shamelessly and hoped that would somehow fix things." Jaskier's rambling peters out into somewhat embarrassed silence. "That's probably why you’re feeling," incoherent gestures. "A little pent up, sorry." 

Geralt laughs softly. It's all so very Jaskier, that he can't help it. The truth is so sweet, and so daft. Just like Jaskier. Geralt shifts his grip, and instead of restraining him, holds Jaskier in a thorough, firm, gentle embrace.

"So you're not mad at me anymore?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Mmm, no." Geralt nuzzles into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. Jaskiers arms find rest on Geralts broad back.

"I'm going to ruin that sooner or later." Jaskier says ruefully. 

"I know." Jaskier can hear more than see the gentle smile on Geralt's face.

They stand pressed together like this for a long moment. Jaskier engulfed in Geralt's arms.

"This is nice." Jaskier says, snuggling in.

Jaskier can feel Geralt's rumble of agreement through his whole chest.


	2. Sweet release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has his sweet way with Jaskier.  
> ...  
> "I'm sorry I have such limited equipment to work with.. I would... I would lavish you.. with rose petals and silk and.. and wine, if I had them." 
> 
> "Jaskier. I'm sexually frustrated. I want to do this simple and fast."
> 
> "Oh.. that..That's hot. I can work with that...."

Roach nickers softly, wondering what the two humans are up to. Loud arguing, she's used to. Standing still together quietly was a much stranger thing to happen. 

"So what happens next?" Geralt asks, pulling back so he can talk to Jaskier face to face. 

"I.. I thought I'd made it clear that that's up to you." Jaskier says. 

"I meant, how do we do this? I said I'd desired men before, I didn't say I was particularly experienced with them." Geralt says with a tilt of his head.

"Oh...Oh you... we." Jaskier points between them in excited disbelief. "We are going to do this?" 

"Yes."

"You will not regret this." He says, clapping his hands together in glee.

"I already am." Geralt says, looking around the forest vigilantly as Jaskier scrambles in his pack for something. 

"I'm sorry I have such limited equipment to work with.. I would... I would lavish you.. with rose petals and silk and.. and wine, if I had them." 

"Jaskier. I'm sexually frustrated. I want to do this simple and fast. Not listen to your ... seducing."

"Oh.. right... that..That's ... hot. I can work with that. But this is my only chance to make a good first impression on you and your epically." He gestures towards various parts of Geralt's body frantically "nngh... sexy body."

"Jaskier." Geralt frowns at the hyperbole, and shifts onto his other hip impatiently

"Found the oil." Jaskier says brightly and bounces up in front of Geralt again, looking down at his pants. "Do you want me to- ...?!" He's cut off when Geralt grabs him by either side of the face and kisses the surprised bard deftly on the lips, as though getting a taste for him. Or perhaps just for the moment of silence. 

Jaskier stills for a moment, hands on Geralt's hips. "Can we do more of that?" He asks hungrily. Geralt answers with a deeper kiss. Jaskier moans in desire and curls a hand deep into Geralt's hair. Apparently this is a good move, if Geralt's approving purr is anything to go by.

When the Witcher breaks off the kiss to get some air, Jaskier immediately kneels in front of him, and starts to work on undoing his pants.

Geralt picks him back up by the biceps and starts kissing the surprised bard again, licking into his mouth slowly, thoroughly, Jaskier's hands curling against the Witcher's chest. The second time he breaks off, panting, a somewhat disoriented Jaskier asks:

"What happened to simple and fast?"

"The more I kiss you, the better you smell." Geralt growls out, matter of fact.

"Oh, good?" Jaskier accepts easily, and holds Geralt's face with one hand as they kiss again.

His attention is solely on Geralt, no talking, no flapping around. Every touch, and look and thought directed onto a single target. Deep in the throes of passion is one of the very few times that he's in perfect focus on a single other person. One of many things he loves about sex.

Geralt reaches for the ties of Jaskier's breeches and grabs the bottle of oil off him. 

"It's ok, you don't have to- " Jaskier says, cut off by a firm kiss. 

Geralt pulls back from the kiss and looks him deep in the eyes, so that Jaskier can see the desire flare in them as he reaches down, pushes Jaskiers underwear out of the way, and holds his throbbing erection in one large, hot, oil slicked hand. Oh, right, that's fine then, Jaskier relaxes. Jaskier's eyes darken with desire, even as his expression forms the most incredible look of wonder. Fingers brushing Geralt's jawline and neck on one side, Jaskier covers the other side of his neck with adoring butterfly kisses until the other man tears an eye closing moan from him. 

"Geralt...? " Jaskier grips the Witcher's biceps frantically, trying to keep his balance in the face of a surprisingly effective hand job.

"Geralt... please?" 

Geralt easily picks Jaskier up by a buttock and the waist, and carries him confidently to the bed roll.

Laying him down effortlessly in a very hot manner, Geralt quickly divests Jaskier of his shirt, and begins to methodically explore Jaskier's potential erogenous zones. A bite at the earlobe here, a tease of the nipple there. Hands run firmly over his scalp, and then pull his hair firmly, but not painfully. Geralt's fingers run through his chest hair, followed closely by his nose and mouth as he breaks the kiss. This is followed by a lick at the crook of his neck, and a variety of different nips and bites on various pieces of skin. Not to mention a variety of rhythms and pressures on his now straining erection. Every time Jaskier cries out in pleasure it's met with a pleased grunt from Geralt, and renewed efforts to find a other ways to arouse him.

Overwhelmed with sensation, Jaskier bites his curled index finger to try to anchor himself in something other than pleasure. It doesn't work particularly well, because when Geralt bites his ear once more with a little growl, he comes all over his hand with a startled noise. 

Geralt and him just stare at one another a second. Jaskier is the first one to break it.

"You might be the most efficient ... and generous, lover I've ever had." Jaskier says earnestly as Geralt looks at his messy hand.

Geralt shakes his head. "It's selfish. The more aroused you are, the better you sound and smell."

"That's... not how selfish works...?" Jaskier says, somewhat confused as Geralt brings Jaskier's knees up around his waist, then tucks his own shirt up out of the way..

Geralt oils himself and begins to thrust against Jaskier's belly, his erection trapped in that slick hot space between them that smells so heavily of sex. Rhythm established, Geralt leans down again into Jaskier's neck, and in that private space allows himself to express his pleasure with that deep throaty moan of his. Jaskier takes no time at all to get hard again, arching and thrusting beneath him. Panting and mouthing at Geralt's neck while clutching at him desperately, high on pleasure.

It's pure friction and scent and heat. No talking, nothing fancy, just this. This quick, then frantic, rutting and clutching at one another doesn't last long. Geralt tenses, and comes with a surprisingly quiet series of grunts and thrusts. His back arched, eyes closed in concentration, his expression ecstatic, muscles quivering, barely holding himself in check.

It's a sight so beautiful that Jaskier surprises himself by coming again already. His startled gasp opens Geralt's eyes. 

Geralt looks down at him with surprise, Jaskier panting and flushed beneath him, expression suffused with pure adoration. They stay this way until they both go still, breath evening out. 

"I haven't come like that since I was an inexperienced teen. You're extraordinary. " Jaskier says, breaking the moment. 

Geralt grimaces and suddenly rolls off him, sitting down on the bedroll, facing away.

Jaskier sits up too, anxiety creeping in. "Was it, was I.. not ... good enough? I swear I can do better, if you'll give me the chance." Jaskier asks, concerned, as Geralt cleans himself off with a spare cloth.

"You're learning how to wield a sword." Geralt says, not turning.

"What?" Jaskier asks, as he catches the second cloth, not following at all.

"And you're going to wear the type of armour I tell you to." Geralt continues. 

"Have I missed something? Is this a sex thing? I don't understand." Jaskier says, cleaning himself off.

Geralt explains. "You're never going to forgive me if I leave you behind. And I'm never going to forgive myself if you die following me around. You're learning sword and maybe buckler too. We'll see. You'll need gloves too."

"This is the strangest pillow talk I've ever had, but I like it."

"Good, now fuck off and let me nap, I'm exhausted. Don't bother Roach."

Pulling his pants back on hastily, Jaskier plants a small kiss on Geralt's cheek, and is rewarded by a faint smile, as Geralt finally relaxes, and drifts off into a restful slumber.


	3. Later that day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later that day, more sexy shenanigans.  
> ...  
> "Are you excellent at sexy talk, or am I just already that into this?" The bard asks, pensive despite the situation.
> 
> Geralt grunts in return, starts undoing Jaskiers clothing once more.

Geralt's eyes open on midday light and Jaskier lounging sexily nearby, looking at him happily and smelling a flower he found gods know where.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. How do you feel?" Jaskier asks easily.

"You've managed not to disturb me for longer than I expected." Geralt says, a typical Geralt compliment.

Jaskier beams.

"Does your offer still stand?" Geralt asks, reaching for his water skin.

"Does my offer...? Of sex? You want to do it again?" Jaskier fairly bounces with puppyish enthusiasm. "I have so many.. techniques, I want to use on you this time. "

"Don't. " Geralt says. "You were perfect when you were just reacting to my touch. "

"Perfect? I was.." Jaskier drops his flower he looks like he's about to cry happy tears.

"It was probably just a fluke." Geralt backtracks, realising his mistake. 

"Want to bet?" Jaskier asks cheekily.

"Forget it, let's go." Geralt moves to stand, and Jaskier plucks at his clothes, desperately. 

"No! No, please. I'll be good. I'll.. do what ever you tell me to. Think of me as your loyal hound."

Geralt grunts, grimacing at the analogy.

"How about if I just.. shut up, and you have your sexy way with me?"

Geralt's answering humm is interested. 

Jaskier can't help but whoop in triumph.

"Please, please let me suck you." He begs. 

"No." Geraltfrowns. 

"And why not?" Jaskier huffs.

In lieu of an answer, Geralt crawls over the top of Jaskier and inhales as he goes, eager for a repeat of earlier. The effect is like being sniffed by a bear to determine if you're a threat that needs to be eliminated. Jaskier grips the bedroll tensely. By the time Geralt stops at his throat and kisses the hollow where it meets his shoulder, apparently a favoured stretch of skin, he's hard.

"You.. are .. terrifying." Jaskier says in wonder.

Geralt looks up into Jaskier's eyes, second guessing himself. He sits back on his haunches, giving Jaskier space.

"I didn't say stop..." Jaskier says, getting up on one elbow so that he can grab Geralt’s hand and pull him back down over him.

"I don't understand," Geralt says, his brow knitted in a way that makes Jaskier want to ravish him senseless.

"Don't kink shame me." Jaskier protests, as Geralt's hand explores his slender body thoughtfully once more. 

"What?" Geralt just stops everything and looks at him in confusion.

"... I really want to suck you?" Jaskier sidesteps, uncertainly.

Geralt shakes his head. "I'm not going to come first, otherwise it's not worth it."

"The more I hear about your sex life, the more I want to be at the centre of it." Jaskier says eagerly. Geralt grins wolfishly "Or not.."

"Oh Gods..." he says as Geralt leans down, but he just smells Jaskiers hair again.

"It won't take long to make you come, and then we'll see about cock sucking." Geralt says.

Jaskier grins in triumph, until he parses the sentence correctly. "Hey, what are you saying about my stamina?"

"You're fine. Besides, stamina is over rated. Whoever decided easy orgasm was a bad thing had no imagination when it came to pleasing their partner."

"Are you excellent at sexy talk, or am I just already that into this?" The bard asks, pensive despite the situation. 

Geralt grunts in return, starts undoing Jaskier's clothing once more, tongue immediately busy on the freshly exposed skin.

"Hey, hey. No fair... Mnh .. Geralt." Jaskier manages to grab Geralt's face, and thereby attention.

"Geralt. You're right, you're a selfish, selfish lover. You haven't let me near that beautiful cock of yours once yet. Why not? Are you worried I'll hurt you?"

"No." Geralt says uncertainly. 

"Then let me touch you? At least that gorgeous part of you." he says with feeling.

"Beautiful... gorgeous?" says Geralt doubtfully, his expression the same as any time he hears one of Jaskier’s more fanciful lyrics.

"Yes, yes it is.. from the little I've seen." Jaskier says, decided opinionated. "It's just like the rest of you. Standing so straight backed and hard and... And so perfectly proportionate to the rest of you, giant wall of Witcher muscle that you are." Jaskeir waxes lyrical. "Surely you've been told so before."

A dismissive shrug. "It's the one part of me neither scarred nor mutated. An easy target for pillow talk."

"Geralt, I'll tell you what. I'm certain you have more control than to come without warning. At least let me have a little of you. Trust me, I'll come for you just fine, on command, if that's what you really want. But I want to show you how magnificent I think your Witchery dick is, no more waiting."

"... Ok." Geralt unbuttons his pants and leans back against his pack and a tree, one arm behind his head to soften it's resting spot. He looks at Jaskier expectantly. The picture of it is like something out of the painting of a great master, one Jaskier feels certain to ruin. 

"Oh.. who'd have thought I would get performance anxiety." He says, a little breathless from the sight. Geralt, rolls his eyes and begins to redo his pants.

"No! Please!" Jaskier scrambles over and greedily peels back Geralt's pants, freeing a half aroused penis, just waiting for his attention. "Oh, hello." He lifts it gently free and kisses the tip as reverently as he would the hand of a duchess. Sitting surrounded by the white nest of hair, and black leather, Geralt's cock is pink and surprisingly delicate. Jaskier doesn't get the impression that this state of affairs will last long. 

Slow exploration of its silky texture gives way to determined licking as Geralt hardens, until Jaskier licks across the tip one last time before taking Geralt into his mouth. 

Geralt strains to keep still while Jaskier has his fun through the whole thing, keeping carefully impassive beneath his ministrations, appealing though they are. 

Given no feedback, Jaskier has no idea how Geralt is feeling about his efforts, but he's happy enough to be selfish for a while and just enjoy the sensation. Gripping Geralt, enjoying the firm resilience of his flesh, exploring the nearby thighs and stomach in their glorious hardness of muscle, just through the cloth, not wanting to expose more of Geralt than he himself has offered.

Jaskier rocks his whole body into it as he gains confidence. His eyes closed, too shy of Geralt's silent gaze, too focused on touch to want distraction.

Geralt fills his mouth easily, comfortably, firmly. It's a delicious sensation, and Jaskier moans on each downwards stroke, greedy for it. He shies away from the idea of trying to deep throat him, that's far too much a burden on his poor delicate bardic throat. Appealing though the idea of being completely stretched full by Geralt was. 

That heat and throb of Geralt's cock in his hand and mouth is enough. More than enough, to get his body begging for release.

He lets Geralt loose from his mouth, catches his breath a moment, eyes heavy with desire as he looks up at Geralt, and asks ."Would now be a good time for me to come for you?" He asks, feeling the stretched, tired muscles of his jaw as he does so. 

In answer, Geralt's cock throbs powerfully. The man himself is still managing to cling to silence despite the onslaught of pleasure Jaskier is filling his senses with. He nods in confirmation. It's probably good his cock made answer for him, as his voice is probably nothing close to human right now after strangling back his moans for so long, and he really doesn't want to scare the bard off at this delicate juncture.

Jaskier quickly frees his own dick from his pants and starts to stroke his erection with one hand, the other still holding the base of Geralt's cock. His mouth returns to its movements, sucking and licking fervently. As he becomes more aroused, Jaskier allows his technique to crumble into chaos, as the combined sensations of his own hand and Geralt's cock in his mouth drive him quickly towards the edge of orgasm. Well, Geralt did say that it wasn't worth it unless Jaskier came first. 

So Jaskier moans almost constantly, as he moves his head and his tongue in concert, and his suction becomes erratic, his hand pressure spasmodic, his whole body tense and twitching and straining. He looks up then, at Geralt, with abject desire, when his release grabs hold of him, and he looses Geralt from his mouth in order to press his face into the crease of Geralt's crotch and cry out incoherently. 

As soon as the initial shocks of pleasure fade he scoops Geralt's throbbing erection back up in his mouth again, desperate for the contact, to have that hardness inside him again, filling his mouth utterly, stifling his fading moans. He sucks greedily, his head moving as quickly as he can control it, his face flushed and glowing with sweat. Geralt lasts about ten seconds of this thoroughly erotic onslaught before it undoes him.

With a deep, rolling growl of release, he comes. Copiously. Thrust after barely moderated thrust of his hips brings more and more of it into Jaskier's mouth, filling it almost uncomfortably, but very gratifyingly. Both of Jaskier's hands brace him against the uncontrollable buck of Geralt, which would be enough to throw Jaskier off him, if he weren't so agile, keeping Geralt firmly in his mouth, sucking and licking him through it all.

Once the flow subsides, Jaskier leans back and spits once, efficiently onto the ground behind, before taking Geralt back into his mouth, gently, his attention still focused only on this one task, this one point of contact. Licking up the excess spend, holding the base in a light caress with both hands, just providing gentle contact, intimate and sweet. A gentle anchor as Geralt recovers from what was an impressively strong climax. Each breath still bringing a tiny, almost agonized sound of arousal from Geralt's tense throat.

In the silence that follows, Geralt reflects that the suck and spit was almost like Jaskier was sucking poison from a wound.

In a way, he did. He drew out all the tension. The frustration. The loneliness. Leaving just Geralt behind. No longer troubled by these desires, this toxic build-up of unmet human needs and wants that clouded his judgement. Like a thousand mosquito bites of unfulfilled longing for touch. Replacing it with the salve of love, of care. Jaskier's care for him. 

Jaskier looks up at him with trust, and with an eagerness to be trusted, to be liked in return. As though every time Geralt had proved unworthy of it didn't matter at all. That Jaskier would always believe the best of him.

Geralt wants this powerfully, wants Jaskier close and open to him like this. It's frightening to be this intimate, this vulnerable. To have someone so vulnerable become someone so valuable... so dear, to him. As soon as he realises how deep the feeling runs, Geralt feels fear. A surge of adrenaline kicking him into fight or flight. His training kicks in, his face going blank and hard, his focus going cold and reactive, he tenses, and sits up.

Jaskier sees all this, and releases Geralt instantly, trying to tuck himself back into his pants, looking around frantically. "What is it?"

Geralt confirms for himself that there's nothing around. Though Roach would have warned them if she'd spotted anything. 

"Nothing." Geralt apologises, relaxing, tucking himself away too. "It's nothing.. just... Witcher feelings.

Jaskier laughs in disbelief, and sits back onto his pert little bottom. A carefree sound.

"So.. was that better?" He asks, eager for praise as usual.

"You have to ask?" Geralt asks in disbelief.

"I'm new at Witcher sex. That could have been the average for all I know." Jaskier complains. 

In answer Geralt drops the branch he's accidentally ripped from the tree during climax onto the ground in front of Jaskier. 

"That... that's the most flattering compliment I've ever received post coitus." Jaskier says, marvelling at the poor abused tree.

"Don't let it go to your head." Geralt grunts.

"Ah.. I see what you did there." Jaskier says, delighted by Geralt's accidental wit.

Geralt doesn't rise to the bait. "Hand me some food, we need to get going."

Jaskier smiles happily as he does so. Before he knew him so well, Geralt would have said cockily. But it wasn't a self centred instinct, the way Jaskier was pleased. Not really. He was just happy he'd done something good for someone he cared for. Geralt's heart pounds again in response, almost human quick.

"Hurry up. I'm going to teach you limbering up exercises before we get back on the trail." Is what he says to Jaskier. 

"More of your signature pillow talk." Jaskier quips suggestively. "Teach me Master Geralt, I am your willing student."

Geralt grunts, and Jaskier can tell it's more amusement than irritation. He grins, and his Witcher smiles in return.

That monster doesn't stand a chance now.


	4. Chapter 4

A town, a tavern, a night of singing. Jaskier is relaxed and radiantly confident.

"My throat is most unfortunately parched. So woo your loves, empty your bladders, and make merry with your friends, and I'll be back in but a heart beat, with more music." He exits stage to applause and a smattering of cheers.

Jaskier recases his lute quickly, and springs up to Geralt's otherwise empty table at the back, his face euphoric, high on a good performance. 

"How was I?" Jaskier asks, picking up the second tankard of beer sitting in front of the Witcher, and gulping it.

"Empty your bladders?" He asks, in mild disgust.

"Well.. It's accurate. I meant my songs." 

"No worse than usual." Geralt says sardonically.

"Oh you." Jaskier playful bats his shoulder. "Hey, isn't that just the most gorgeous woman in the room?" Jaskier nods and gazes dreamily at to a lovely woman sitting among her friends towards the front of the room. She doesn't look any more or less lovely than her surrounding friends, depending on your taste, but Geralt has ceased to wonder why any particular person caught Jaskier's eye, the variety is wide and almost patternless. 

"Yes." Geralt agrees, but without much emotion. "Have fun." He says, slapping Jaskier on the shoulder, knowing what's coming next.

Jaskier leaves his table as expected, and goes to charm the group of ladies. They invite him to sit with them and talk, as expected, and Jaskiersits scandalously close to 'the most gorgeous woman in the room.

But it isn't quite as expected. Every time Jaskier whispers in her ear, she blushes, gasps, or saddens, and looks in Geralt's direction. Even Witcher senses can't wade through tavern chatter to hear Jaskier's whispers. After a while Geralt simply cannot stand not knowing what's up. The next time Jaskier looks over his way, Geralt summons him with a curt gesture.

"Jaskier?" He asks shortly.

"Yes, Geralt?" He responds innocently.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Geralt asks bluntly.

"Telling her a little about you. " Jaskier says conspiratorially, grinning, wiggling his shoulders back and forth as he leans on the table.

Geralt glares. "What?"

"Just the truth." Jaskier says coquetishly.

"What truth?" Geralt growls, impatient.

"That you are sterile," Deeper growl, Jaskier is not deterred. "And discreet, and heroic, and that you love no smell better than that of a woman's arousal. So IF she wants a tumble with you, it'll be a hidden treasure she'll never regret." Jaskier finishes smoothly, with a winning smile back in her direction.

"Nothing... else?" Geralt asks, though all this is bad enough.

"Oh.. no. About that? Not unless you command me to on threat of death." Jaskier says dramatically, catching what Geralt means.

"Stop... wooing her for me, if that's what you're doing." Geralt says, irritably.

"As you command. Do you want to meet her?" Jaskier grins in delight.

"Meet her?" Geralt repeats, shocked.

Jaskier gestures and she comes over the join them, Jaskier gallantly giving her his seat next to Geralt. 

"Geralt, this is Claudia, she likes flute songs and Linden trees."

"Claudia, this is Geralt. He's shy around beautiful women, don't take his lack of speech personally." Jaskier winks.

"Claudia." She says, somewhat shyly to Geralt as she holds out a hand.

"Geralt of Rivia." He replies holding her hand gently, wondering whether she means for him to kiss it , but deciding against risking it. "I must warn you, every word out of Jaskier's mouth is an exaggeration. Occupational hazard of being a bard. " He smiles sweetly at her, no teeth visible.

"Would you like to set me straight?" She asks, charmingly.

"I would. How may I serve?" Geralt says, managing to look pleasant and disarming for once, hand on heart in a sort of salute.

"Jaskier said that you have the heart of a legendary romantic, but that bearing witness to countless tragedies has roughened your voice in sorrow forever." She says breathlessly.

"My voice is rough from mutation. " Geralt corrects. He isn't one for lies. Or poetic license, as Jaskier puts it.

Claudia continues excitedly. "The mutation that creates the legend of the unfeeling Witcher, trapping every word of emotion within your throat like a bottled djinn, unable to be expressed, lest your heart entwine with another's, and lure you away from your duty as a Witcher, protector of humanity." She says, starry eyed, caught up in the fantasy of Jaskiers romantic whispering.

"I don't .. That's... I do have a duty to protect humanity." Geralt says uncomfortably, not sure where to to start on that one.

"It's so noble." She continues, eyes wide and dark. "I don't flatter myself that a single emotion of yours could be reserved for me. But if you want forgetfulness, I am yours. " She says as she caresses his cheek with a tender look. Geralt looks stunned. 

"Right ..." Geralt says, again rather out of his depth.

"Do you have a room here?" She blurts out, blushing.

"... Yes." He replies, when Jaskier prods him.

"Can I meet you there in ten minutes?" She asks, more boldly.

"Jaskier." Geralt says, not breaking eye contact with Claudia.

"Yes, dear friend?" Jaskier asks, smugly.

"I have an urgent.. private matter, to discuss with you. Excuse us, Claudia. Come with me."

Geralt grabs Jaskier's arm and drags him outdoors into the cool of night, Jaskier blowing kisses to the lovely Claudia as he goes. 

"What other lies have you been spinning about me?" Geralt demands, as soon as they're alone in the dark.

"Are they lies though?" Jaskier asks, looking smug about this turn of events.

"My throat is in no way enchanted to never allow me to express love." Geralt says angrily.

"No, but that is the general effect of your choice of lifestyle though, isn't it? Duty bound to the Path, you take no bride and all that? Every time I witness you develop feelings for a woman you've definitely acquired selective mutism."

Geralt grunts in displeasure, hands on hips, but doesn't deny it. "I must admit it's better than most of your metaphors."

Jaskier peacocks with professional pride until Geralt adds. "Though that's not hard."

"So what's the harm?" Jaskier asks, disarmingly. "You're both going to have a night of fun, and neither of you have illusions that it's any more than that." 

"I don't want you lining pity fucks up for me in every town from here to Posada." Geralt says, finally putting words to why he's so pissed off.

Jaskier's hands flex delicately. "Ah. If it helps, from what she's said, Claudia is into you more for the prospect of multiple orgasms, than for the tragic hero line." He says, eyes full of mischief still.

"And what if I can't... perform?" Geralt asks, vaguely. Still somewhat flustered by this turn of events.

"Pfft. With her?" Jaskier scoffs.

"Point." Geralt agrees. "All right. Just don't tell her any more lies in the next ten minutes. I want to go clean up. Tell her where our room is."

"Excellent.. excellent. You will not regret this." Jaskier says triumphantly.

"I wish you'd stop saying that." Geralt mutters and strides off to their room.

By the end of second song into Jaskier's next set, he can hear a throaty, feminine sound of intense pleasure coming straight through the floor from above him.

He launches directly into the third song to cover it. His grin is even more cheeky and smug than usual for the rest of the evening, and his songs as ribald and cheerful as any he's ever sung.


	5. Morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jaskier, not that I mind. But why did you throw the most beautiful woman you could find into my arms at the first available opportunity?"

Geralt awakes first. He's still covered in the smell of Claudia. Pleasantly so. She hadn't been overly adventurous, but she had been quite enthusiastic. He'd asked her to speak her desires so that he'd know what she enjoyed, and she'd not been shy in the slightest. 

They'd had a very pleasurable time together. And afterwards, she'd kissed him goodbye passionately, and not spoken of feelings, despite a lingering look with liquid eyes soft upon him. Jaskier obviously made quite an impression with that little fabrication.

He felt very content. She was soft, and curved pleasantly, and her skin was sensitive to his touch, and she smelled clean and feminine. She hadn't been intimidated by his strength, or scars, or gaze. And she hadn't asked any overly awkward questions about him. Basically she was everything that he could hope for in a bed partner.

He gets the feeling that Jaskier somehow knew that this is what she'd be like, when he wooed her so carefully last night. "Most gorgeous woman in the room," was apparently code for "Most likely to enjoy sleeping with a Witcher."

Jaskier is asleep on the bed opposite. Messy in limb and hair. One leg poking off the side of his bed, one arm thrown up over his head to cover his eyes.

Depite being covered in the faint smells of women who'd sat intimately close to hear his tales last night, he came to bed alone, some time after Claudia had left. He'd apparently worked off the excitement of performing by copious talking and beer, not sex. Some time after Geralt had settled contently into bed, Jaskier had stirred him awake with his quiet entry into the room. 

He'd simply whispered "It's just me, Geralt." And quietly undressed for bed. Slipping into sleep without any bawdy questions about Claudia at all.

..

Later that morning, after Jaskier had been prodded awake, and had eaten something, Geralt asks the question that's been forming since he woke this morning.

"Jaskier, not that I mind, but why did you guide the most beautiful woman you could find into my arms at the first available opportunity?"

"Because I thought you'd enjoy her company?" Jaskier replies, uncertainly. 

"I did. You would have too. You might even have enjoyed it more than I did." 

"Well, she certainly enjoyed your company. I had to sing non stop for quite some time to provide you two some privacy." Jaskier grins.

"Which I'm glad of. Thank you." Geralt pauses to order his words. "But I am hardly starved for sex at the moment, thanks to your insistence on trying to make an impression on me. So why spend your best efforts on a woman for my arms?" Jaskier bites his lip, thoughtful, trying to find the right way to explain. 

"Sometimes all I can see in front of me is this brave, kind, noble soul." He starts, hands making a fanciful shape in the air.

"Don't start believing your own songs too much Jaskier ." Geralt says with annoyance. 

"I mean it. You're grumpy and frustrating and rude and a terrible conversationalist, and ... and stubborn as a mule sometimes. But about a week ago I discovered that you are a generous and skilled lover on top of all your other better traits. "

"And I just wanted someone else to witness it. I said I'd never tell anyone about.. us. But I wanted to be able to show someone else. To be able to hear their pleasure and say to myself 'see? I was right, he's wonderful' You know?"

"And... I wanted to prove to you that I just want you happy. That I haven't forgotten that you prefer the fairer sex, and I'm not greedy for you, not like that. I get to see you fight monsters, and travel the world... and if you ever turn to me as a partner when the occasion demands? Then that's just cream on the cake."

"Jaskier." Geralt says gently.

Jaskier hurries on with his explanation. "I'm bad with words... I trip over them, or can't find the right one, or try to say everything at once. I think that's part of why I won't shut up. I feel like if I use them all, eventually I'll use the right ones."

"Geralt... I feel very big things towards you. Complicated and messy and.. and passionate things. And they don't obligate a single thing from you. Because that's not what this is. That's not real or true." He concludes, firmly, earnestly. 

Geralt is truly touched by Jaskier's confession - explanation -ramble. He feels his throat closing around the response he wants to make. Like Jaskier's bloody 'bottle of feelings mutation' nonsense, damn it.

He huffs out a breath of irritation at himself and with Jaskier.

Then he reaches forward, pulls Jaskier towards him, and gives the surprised bard a truly tender kiss on the forehead, hugging him close.

"I get it." Geralt murmurs, letting him go. "You can stop trying to explain."


	6. noble dalliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets an offer he doesn't want Geralt to refuse.
> 
> part 1 of 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: Dear readers, the whole point of this tale is the sweet moments of tenderness and sexual release that Geralt and I find in one another. Please, if you have moments or scenarios that you think would work for that purpose, please suggest them in comments etc. I will regale them to you with silver tongue.  
> Geralt: Jaskier, did you just steal my line?  
> Jaskier: How dare you suggest I plagiarised... Ok yes I did. *coquet smile* do you want to punish me for it?  
> *Geralt noises of disbelief*

Geralt can feel the human blood on his skin as though it burns him in accusation.

The ruthless ponce on the fancy horse in front of him declares. "The evil is defeated. Let us feast this night. In your honour." A general cheer goes up from the surrounding royal retinue.

"I won’t- " Geralt starts angrily, pointing toward the bloodthirsty monarch accusingly. Until Jaskier bodily intervenes to ‘translate’, pushing the accusing digit downwards, gingerly, and plastering on a smile.

"What our dear brave Witcher here means to say is that we'd be honoured to attend this.. celebratory feast. But that can’t accept sole responsibility for today's... victory." He says, gesturing at the unpleasant slaughter they're trying to leave behind them.

"Geralt is more the strong, silent type. If you seat him among any other brave knights you see fit to honour for the day's derring do, he will be content to eat, drink and make merry." Jaskier explains. 

Jaskier steps forward, keeping his Witcher even further behind him.

"I - however - am more than comfortable in the spotlight, and I can delight your court with tales of adventure and victory from Geralt's illustrious career. I can sing Geralt's praises quite literally, which he has become used to, and this will not discomfort him." Jaskier says with a stage smile and a pose. The cruel royalty graciously give them this out, and accedes to his wishes.

Jaskier bows with a flourish, and the whole royal party rides off for the castle, content with this scenario.

Geralt whispers as they walk on, surrounded by soldiers.  
"Jaskier. Today was dirty business, and I in no way want to celebrate it."

Jaskier says back, barely moving his lips, smile still plastered on.  
"I know Geralt, I feel the same way. But unless we want to get ourselves noisily banished, or quietly assassinated, we had better play along. There are forces at play much larger than ourselves. So if you could, do your best to wash off the dirty feeling, and drink your sorrows away? Then tomorrow we leave this kingdom, and find some more honourable monsters to slay, far, far away from here."

Geralt nods, expressionstill grim.  
“I can do that.” Jaskier hears a silent ‘for you’ behind Geralt’s tone.

...

Geralt is dressed in annoying silken clothing for the feast. At least he’s surrounded by men who understand the life of the sword. He lets those who wish to boast, and eats his fill. Eventually one of the proud chested braggards starts to prod him to speak on his exploits, obviously feeling provoked by the quiet competent menace the Witcher exudes without effort. He narrows his eyes. He’s in less of a mood than usual to make small talk.

"Geralt~ ". Jaskier trills as he comes over to the table, rescuing him from the consequenses of the biting words he's about to unleash on the boastful fool across the table from him.

"You want something stupid. Out with it." Geralt says bluntly, wiping his face and hands. 

“There are lovely noblewomen who wish to meet you.” Jaskier says, eyeing the aggressive, posturing braggard uneasily.

"Just come over.. here." Jaskier says, directing with very loud hand gestures. Once they’re out of earshot of anyone, Jaskier leans sideways and murmurs. "Can we please have a foursome?" 

Geralt instantly tries to stride in the opposite direction, determined not to jump from frying pan to fire with court shenanigans. Jaskier grabs onto Geralt's arm to stop him and instead gets dragged along.

"Please..? Please! wait. Let me explain." He scrambles in front of Geralt, blocking him bodily.

Geralt stops.

"The pair of noble ladies we’re about to speak with..." Jaskier smiles in their direction, and Geralt turns to look. "They're not interested in me, so much as they're interested in how I can make sex with you more interesting. They want me to perform my ballads, with the subject of my ballads present for them to... to rut into like.. like horny lemmings."

Geralt grunts in distaste. But keeps looking towards the women, who admittedly are attractive.

"The blow to both our egos is that I think that they want sex with you as a way of making sex with one another more interesting. So I'm.. worst of three. But I'm still on the list." He says, hopefully.

"Please Geralt? They're very beautiful, and they say the most exquisitely erotic things in the most astoundingly subtle ways.” Jaskier pleads. 

"I'm not a performing dog. Go steal a shirt from my pack and pretend you're me if they want play-acting. Don't touch my swords." Geraltsays bluntly.

"That's not the sword of yours I want to touch." Jaskier quips.

Geralt tries to leave again. 

"Wait!" Jaskier tugs at his arm ineffectually again. "Gods, you're strong. If you can look me in the eye, and honestly deny that you find the pair of them desirable, I'll leave it at introductions and you can go sleep alone."

Geralt looks over at the pair of them again, one is slender, one has a cascade of dark brown waves falling down behind her coiffed hair, both have the air of someone who could snap him in half whenever they pleased, but are choosing to treat him as an equal for now. His cock twitches in interest. He has a type. He huffs out a breath.

"And what about angry husbands?" He asks, still unconvinced. 

"Ah. They haven't said it plainly, but one is handmaid to the other, and the husband knew about all of this hanky panky before they married. He doesn't care, so long as they're discreet. Discreet probably being the key word here? No court gossip about you, no angry mobs." Jaskier sounds hopeful. 

Geralt grunts, and considers. The pair of ladies both look over at him with a look of genuine curious desire, wondering what’s taking him so long... they don't appear to regard him as a plaything entirely. 

Ah, why not. He's done stranger things in his time. He starts walking over again.

"How will you not get jealous of me, fucking someone else right in front of you like that?" Geralt asks in a deep, quiet rumble. 

"Oh.. I will. It's just that I will get much stronger pleasure from seeing how much you enjoy yourself, so I'll just focus on that, and in my experience, the jealousy just sort of fades away." Jaskier explains easily, as though jealous is that simple.

Jaskier continues. "The more awkward thing will be when they inevitably start focusing solely on one another for a while, and I can't go touch you to relieve my arousal."

Geralt looks at him. He hadn't considered that. On the other hand, self control was wasn't so much a skill he had, as an entire personality trait, so it didn't bother him overly. 

Jaskiers endearing heart-on-his-sleeve lack of self control was part of his charm. So Geralt was rather impressed.

"All right. Sweet talk them." He said, just as they finally approached the noble table. 

Jaskier’s smile is radiant beyond that of sunrise itself.

...

After the feast has ended, Geralt and Jaskier are returned to their rooms, given new, somewhat sexy clothes, and been washed, again before the waiting escort takes them to the right room.

Jaskier spends some time ensuring Geralt looks exactly as rugged and charming as he possibly could. Geralt for his part is both charmed and irritated by this care. 

Jaskier retunes his lute, asks Geralt if he looks good. Generally fusses and chatters about how to act with noble ladies.

“Geralt.. This is going to be fun isn’t it?” he asks nervously.

“I thought that was the point?” Geralt says, laconically.

“It’s just... I didn’t force you into this. Not really, did I?” Jaskier looks worried.

“No Jaskier. I’m not going to do anything I don’t want to. Both in general, and in specific. If they get upset by something I say no to, your silver tongue is going to have to smooth things over.”

“... Did you just make a rather salacious pun?” Jaskier asks, flirtatious once more.

Geralt tilts his head in amusement.

“You saucy minx.” Jaskier says, his following laughter relaxed. Tonight is going to be fun.


	7. A noble dalliance: the enseductionation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times... requires some editing.

...

When Geralt and Jaskier are delivered to the generous bed chambers, Lydia and her handmaid Zofia are looking quite lovely. The pair sit snuggled into a chaise lounge, awaiting the men's arrival, their fancy hairstyles undone, and expensive jewellery removed. 

As they pass through the doorway into the bed chambers, and have it locked behind then, Jaskier whispers pleadingly. "Please exercise your self editing skills?"

"Meaning?" Geralt asks.

"Bring only the nice parts of yourself, and have fun." Jaskier explains.

Geralt grunts assent.

Lady Lydia and Zonia welcome them both with smiles.

"Come gentlemen, let's first some conversation, and a little light music, if you will dear Jaskier." Lady Lydia, requests with the tone of one who enjoys taking charge.

They sit Geralt in the middle of the lounging couch and snuggle in beside him. They all listen to Jaskier strums traditional melodies, softly, and they all drink and snack on fruits, feeding one another and the men. And the women ask him what he likes, and who he'd like to do it to, and they tell him their wants. Jaskier negotiating his own roles and contexts too, with a much more debonair flair. All the while touching one another over their clothes, just taking little samples of what they enjoy. 

"Do you mind if we get to the ballads?" Lady Lydia asks. "Please bear with us for these games. We've found them to be.. useful, for all involved."

Zonia continues. "It helps us remember that desirable as you both are, neither of you are ours to keep, merely characters in a play that appear before us, and must disappear again after the performance. "

Geralt catches on quickly, and murmurs into his wine. "A sort of paper person, someone with wants and desires of their own, yet one you can love while you see them, and forget once they leave you. Like an audience and a bard, or the hero penned into a book. As passionate as legend, and ephemeral as a cloud."

"Yes. Exactly. Did you learn that description from Jaskier ?" Zonia asks, clearly enchanted with Geralt. 

Geralt is conveniently too busy with his drink to answer in words. He grunts noncommittally.

"I teach him a lot of things." Jaskier says lightly, by way of not outright lying, Geralt obviously not wanting to expose his poetic side to the ladies.

"It must be amazing to have such a silver tongue in your ear all day long." Zonia smiles mischeviously from aperch Geralts arm, looking over at Jaskier, who now has an arm full of Lydia. 

Geralt merely tilts his head as if to say.. well, you could say that.

They role play the subjects of Jaskier's ballads. Either one or both of the women playing other characters, either love interest or monster.

Mostly, this means kissing and carrying around the love interest. Some slight piece of further undressing. The process of 'wounding' one another in a fight is much more like devouring one another's skin in a sexual way.

Geralt refuses to play act the one song he knows is about Little Eye, and instead the two women play it out with Jaskier singing along.

Afterward several songs, all four are by now in very little clothing, pleasantly drunk, and in very good cheer. Even Geralt, thanks to the efforts of Zonia to be particularly sweet to him. 

Lydia suddenly declares. "I have a ballad of my own. And I'm drunk enough to sing it before you, dear bard." 

"Come, Zonia, you know the one, you shall be Puck." "Jaskier, You be Titania, and Geralt, you be Oberon."

"While I'm flattered you think me pretty enough for the role, I feel ill costumed to fulfil it." Jaskier says with great aplomb, no eyelids batted at this turn of events.

"Wear my dress, dear bard. It should suffice." The Duchess of Wierdermark commands with ease.

Lydia And Zonia help him into the dress, which thanks to her height and generous bosom has enough material for Jaskier to wear without immediate fear of ripping. He doesn't fill out any of the curves very much, and the laces in front could not be tightened onto his waist as such, but it is on, none the less.

Zonia hands him a hastily woven crown of flowers from the vase, to place upon his brow, and Jaskier turns around, away from his audience, places the crown on his head, and then by some actors trick, he transforms. When he turns back, he's no longer entirely Jaskier, he has become the faerie queen. 

Jaskier is perfect, as this performance is about conveying the idea of it. And he has personality in spades in order to do so.

Suddenly his role and status have changed. Beauty and command radiate from him. He is Titania, ruler of the Sylvain Valleys. By instinct Geralt kneels before him, quick as always to pay respect to spirits of nature.

"You are already excellent in your roles." Lady Lydia says. "Just play it out as Zonia directs you."

Enchanted And engrossed by Jaskier in this way, Geralt acts out his role quite well. He finds Jaskier quite alluring as a cold, arrogant beauty. He doesn't analyse this too much. His lack of attention to his own situation means his awkwardness at play acting melts away finally.

As the song turns sad, as songs like this do, Jaskier acts out distress unnervingly well.

Geralt himself isn't so comfortable with this emotional display. And eventually Titania smites him viciously, and he can'thelp but feel and look truly betrayed, and he is mortally wounded by a hysterical and sad eyed Jaskier.

Oh, well Geralt knows what a dead body looks like, this one's easy. He does his best to achieve that utterly unnerving, boneless stillness.

Jaskier's Titania cannot console herself at the sight of him. He cries over Geralts 'corpse' trembling like a leaf. 

So believably distraught that Geralt can't stay still and dead, and promptly sits up to hold Jaskier against him, looking utterly repentant.

"How did you know it was a trick of the faerie king?!" Lydia gasps, preempted.

"Zonia, did you say something to Jaskier?" The duchess asks, still strumming... still keeping the magic of the story alive.

"No! Please, continue singing, my dear." Zonia pleads, caught up in the story, eyes shining.

Lydia continues. "The faerie king regrets his trick. The king and queen they sweetly kiss."

"Stage kiss, Geralt. Don't fret." Jaskier whispers, leaning towards him and hiding the lower half of their faces behind the hand fan, close but not touching. Jaskier closes his eyes with bliss, as Geralt looks at him in mute shock a moment.. then closes his own.

"The hours turn from night to day, all is forgiven, and fades away." Lydia concluds.

As Jaskier leans back and demurely looks away, Geralt opens his eyes. Titania regains her royal bearing, back straightened and stiff in Geralt's gaze, Geralt keeps still a moment, looking somewhere between chastised and lost. Until the very last chord, where he reaches toward Jaskier, sad and searching... it is pure accident, not skill.

It is also the most affecting ending to the tale. It changes the nuance of the song. Now, although the song says everything is well again, the audience is left to wonder. 

"Zonia, please ravish Oberon by yourself until I rewrite the end stanza." Lydia says smoothly. 

Geralt looks confused a moment as Zonia rushes over to join him on the 'stage', catching up and wearing Titania’s fallen floral crown on the way. He’s still so caught up in Jaskier's performance that his eyes are clouded with a deep thoughtfulness. Then Zonia grabs him, and kisses him desperately, passionate beyond words, and he responds in kind, drawing her to him with unyielding strength, expression wild and imploring. They look like they would climb inside one another if they could, and are about to give it their best shot.

Zonia is in nothing but a sheer chemise by now, and Geralt glides his hands gently underneath it, seeking soft handfuls of her skin. 

Geralt in turn is in nothing but scant braies, and as Zonia wriggles into his lap, they both gasp as her folds rub against his hardness. Then they truly do start to rut into one another in wild abandon, pressed close, kissing desperately.

Jaskier watches for a spellbound minute before he hears a low sensual voice. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Beyond mortal words." Jaskier responds.

"So beautiful that you'd do anything to please them." She says softly.

"Anything within my power." Jaskier answers honestly, looking at Lydia with understanding, hair mussed, wearingasilk dress.

They both watch their lovers enjoy another person for a quiet minute, until the energy of it has them seeking their own release.

"Titania, will you join me on the bed?" Lydia asks from Jaskier’s elbow, taking a moment to distract him from the sight of Geralt licking Zonia with closed eyed concentration, desperate to please his enthusiastic lover.

Well.. Jaskier definitely has all the relevant fires burning, and no mistake. He happily joins her, and allows her to undress him and has one last thought of the ballad before she ravishes him thoroughly.

And it is this: it was really awkward how realistically he cried when presented with the image of Geralts lifeless body... He wonders how much Geralt paid attention. 

Then there are much more delightful sights and sounds to share with a playful bed partner.

"Frankly, my Lady, I think you wear it better." He says, as they both try to remove the dress from him. They both giggle and fall into a kiss.


	8. Part 3: afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quiet conversation.  
> ...
> 
> "And you haven't fallen head over heels for either of them. Which is unusual for you." Geralt muses.
> 
> "Am I that bad?" Jaskier asks .
> 
> "You wouldn't be much of a bard if you didn't love things so much you wanted to sing about it. " Geralt shrugs.

Back in their room afterwards Geralt stares at the ceiling. The night is a blur of pleasant sensations. His skin tingles from it still.

Zonia wasn't his only partner tonight. Lydia joined her after a while, already smelling of arousal and Jaskier. But the interesting thing was her enjoyment of the whole affair obviously hinged on how much Zonia is enjoying herself, and Zonia very much enjoyed herself, repeatedly.

Jaskier just played music for them at that point, much like he did with Claudia. Again more than content in the knowledge that Geralt was enjoying himself. 

"Thank you, for tonight." Geralt says out of nowhere.

Jaskier smiles an easy smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. "

"I have a question." Geralt says, after another moments thought.

Jaskier braces himself, worried this will be about the crying, and Geralt's subsequent embrace. "Are you a peeping Tom?" He asks instead.

"No!" Jaskier looks scandalised. "I always want all of my beloved's attention all on me when I'm... getting sexy. The most peeping I do is on your fights with monsters. Which isn't fair to demonise, because the world deserves to know your tales."

"Then are you like the Duchess, Lydia?" Geralt asks.

"What do you mean?" Jaskier says, trying to figure out what Geralt wants from this conversation, just as much as he does himself.

"She was mainly interested in how much Zonia was enjoying herself. Not in me. She found my eyes unnerving, I think... I think she arranged the whole thing just so she could please her beloved."

".. Well... yes. I got that impression too. " Jaskier admits.

"And you haven't fallen head over heels for either of them. Which is unusual for you." Geralt muses.

"Am I that bad?" Jaskier asks. 

"You wouldn't be much of a bard if you didn't love things so much you wanted to sing about it." Geralt shrugs. 

Jaskier scoffs.

"Is it because of me?" Geralt asks.

"In what way? Are you fishing for the compliment that your cock by itself can satisfy me? Because I'll wax lyrical if you want." Jaskierteases gently. 

"No. It's just... you're not avoiding others because you're afraid of my jealousy are you?" Geralt asks hesitantly.

Jaskier gets it, finally. Geralt is new at relationships, especially as nebulous and strange a one as this. He's just trying to understand, and to be considerate. He smiles. "No, Geralt. I am busy enjoying your company. But I'm sure I won't be forever doomed never to find another muse. Fear not that I'll pine, if and when some goddess or sorceress comes to steal you from me. Though if she's a literal goddess, I may have found my new muse, and we will have to share her." He says fancifully, not letting the conversation turn too serious, looking amused.

Geralt smiles back at him softly, and Jaskier's heart is suddenly in his throat. It looks like Geralt wants to thank him, and hold him, but can't find the words.

"I'm cold." Jaskier says. "Is there any room in there for me?"

Geralt wriggles over, and lifts the blankets.

Jaskier quickly puts away his quill. He snuffs the candles, and stumbles his way towards the bed, until Geralt catches his outstretched arm, and guides him in, safely.

Geralt holds him gently. Breathing deep into his hair and then releasing his breath with an almost groan of relaxation.

"Goodnight, Jaskier. " he says 

"Goodnight, Geralt. " Jaskier answers. Warm inside and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have another Witcher fic, where people are nice to Geralt for once, and I think it would make you smile. It's called "A bard a song and an ugly dog."


	9. The blindness part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a fight, Geralt gets kikimore spit in his eyes. Now he's blind, and reliant on Jaskier, at least, more than either of them prefers.  
> Canon typical violence.
> 
> Editing by my saviour and yours, TayTay0403.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all comments are lovely, both what delights and what doesn't sit right with you. Please also let me know where you'd like this fic to go if you've an opinion.
> 
> So... here's some fic where Geralt is blinded for a while, and Jaskier's scent is one of the few things helping him stay calm.

The Kikimore slashes at him with barbed legs. He ducks and dodges inwards, right up to the thing's ugly scary face, going for a kill shot.

It flicks its mouth parts aside, readying to squirt venomous spit. Geralt isn't quite quick enough to turn away. The goo gets in his eyes, just as he chops the damn thing's head half off. He yells in pain, but his sword stays true, deepening the wound, making sure of the kill. 

The wretched creature flails around for a few more moments, knocking him to the ground with a blow he doesn't see coming. Fortunately it's not a powerful attack. He just lies there in the mud, panting hard, and trying to get the stinging spit out of his eyes. It burns like chili and fire and peppermint and spite. 

He clumsily pulls his gloves off, trying to clean every last smear of it away. It doesn't really help. He needs water. Clean water.

"Geralt! Geralt? Please say something to me." Jaskier says, running up to him.

"Water!" Geralt yells.

"That I can do, dear friend." Jaskier says, running back to their packs. "One water coming up."  
He brings it back and hands it to Geralt, lid already loose. "Here. I can get mine too if you need it."

Geralt sluices his eyes. The pain lessens, but the blindness doesn't. Everything is just dim, vague shapes.

"Fuck." Geralt says. It got him good, blinking doesn't help him focus at all.

"What's wrong?" Jaskier asks frantically. 

"I'm blind, you stupid bard." Geralt says, not aware that there's so much mud and blood covering himself that it really isn't clear to Jaskier what's going on.

"Ah, of course... What do we do?" There’s fear in his voice, but he is determined to be brave. 

"You take me to my potion chest, and I put white honey in my eyes." Geralt says, hauling himself to his feet.

Jaskier grabs his hand, their hands equal in size, and in number of calluses. And yet somehow, Jaskier's feels delicate within his own. He leads Geralt carefully to the potions chest, and puts it on the ground in front of a kneeling Geralt.

Jaskier puts the Witcher’s hand against the small black chest of potions Geralt carries everywhere, showing him where the latch is. Geralt flips it open and tries to find the potion from memory.

It's not there. Geralt feels and smells each one. None of them feel or smell right.

"So white honey cures blindness?" Jaskier asks, which is ignored.

"Tell me, is any of these blue with a viscous liquid inside?" Ger says flatly, trying to keep his pain and irritation out of his voice.

"No, Geralt." Jaskier says.

"Where is the fucking white honey?" Geralt bangs the top of the chest shut.

"I don't know Geralt. I don't know what I'm looking at. I haven't touched anything, I swear."

"Fuck."

"Is there something else we could use?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Hand me the red-lidded one. Should have something greenish in it."

"Right.. Yes.. here." Jaskier says, rummaging until he can place the correct one in Geralt's hand. Geralt drinks the bitter astringent brew with a grimace. 

"So will that cure your blindness?" Jaskier asks, uncertainly.

"No, but it will stop the venom getting into my sinuses and destroying my sense of smell and taste while it's in there."

"Oh Gods..." Jaskier says weakly.

Through all this, Jaskier is quiet. Sure, he prattles, but all of it is in this soft little voice, as though he's scared another monster will jump out if he's too noisy.

He's not wrong, as such.

"Do I need to bind any wounds, Geralt?” He asks while carefully touching Geralt's scratched scalp, which is still bleeding. Geralt flinches back, not expecting the touch. 

"No. We just need to get to somewhere that has white honey, or something better. Otherwise I'm stuck this way for a month, at best." 

"Okay... okay. I'll get everything packed back on Roach. Then we can get out of here."

Geralt gets onto Roach by feel, muscle memory guiding him into the stirrups easily. 

"Jaskier?"

"Right here." Jaskier shoves the last few things into his saddle bags and straps them shut.

"Lead Roach. I won't be able to avoid fine branches."

Jaskier glances back to the slain monster. "Shouldn't I go get the head or something?"

"... can you do it without getting any goop on you?"

"I... lets find out?"

"If you get blinded--"

"I won't, and I won't have them cheating you out of this bounty either." He pauses for a moment. “What should I… fetch?”

"If it was me, I'd bring the whole venom glands. But you have no idea how to butcher a kikimore... Bag up an eye. Don't get any venom on you. See if you can wear my gloves."

"Can I borrow a dagger? I don't think my pen knife is up to the task of kikimore evisceration."

"Here." Geralt draws one from his boot.

He stumbles a bit to find the poetic phrasing of his next words. "I-I will be... as courageous as Demitrii leading Salkrow from the mountain, the head of the medusae in hand."

Geralt is deeply uncomfortable sitting around like a lump on Roach while Jaskier squelches over to get to the grisly task, who is singing himself a little song to bolster his courage.

From where he is, Geralt hears a muttered, "I am Demetrii.. oh god... why?... I am Demetrii, with the head of the medusae..." As Jaskier fumbles through the task.

They set off slowly. There isn't much for Geralt to do but think while being led out of the swamp on Roach. Soon, the adrenaline of the fight wears off, and he starts to feel the fresh cuts and bruises.

He was too slow this time. For a Witcher, being too slow is a death sentence. Which is always such a terrible thing to know, that maybe this was the end, that he wasn't fast enough anymore, and his next fight might well be his last. 

There are techniques that Geralt knows to clear his mind, and achieve the required focus for battle. But they are hard to reach for when he's tired, in pain, blinded, and still in the middle of a kikimore-infested swamp.

All in all, he's feeling very vulnerable. Which is something he doesn’t enjoy.

Jaskier mutters as though talking is the only thing keeping him calm, to himself, to Roach, to Geralt. Geralt finds it oddly soothing.

He talks about the forest, about the mud, about Geralt's fight, the virtues of oats versus carrots, a dozen stories of heroism he feels are related to this situation. Anything that comes to mind.

"Easy girl, easy," Jaskier all but whispers, guiding Roach through the treacherous mud. "Watch your step."

It's not a fast road out of the swamp. There’s a lot of mud, and the last thing they needed right now was to get stuck. 

But slowly, quietly, they make it to solid ground, and to a place where the crackle in the bushes is simply a deer. 

"It's a deer, Geralt. Just a deer." Jaskier says, allowing himself a chuckle of relief as he leans his face onto Geralt's filthy thigh.

"We should make camp before we lose any more light."

"It's not sunset, Geralt." Jaskier says, concerned.

"Fuck,” Geralt curses. “The last of my sight is gone."

"Oh. Well... my eyes are as sharp as ever. So… at least we can make camp."

It's some time later when Jaskier calls camp. Geralt immediately gets off Roach and takes a piss against the first tree he stumbles into.

"Fetch me my bed roll," Geralt says. He may be more competent than most while blind, but he's not shy of using Jaskier to improve efficiency.

"Geralt, you're filthy," Jaskier responds while taking the saddlebags off Roach.

Geralt is about to bark in annoyance, when Jaskier says, "I'm fetching it, it's just... I suggest not lying down on it yet."

”Hm.”

"You may have Witchery body heat to stop you from turning into an ice block despite being covered in mud, but even you can't sleep like that. Just.. please let me help? There's a little cricket over here, and I think we can get the worst of this off you."

Geralt grunts in approval.

"Good.. okay, sit over here. I'll... I'll do things. Come on Roach, let's get you hitched."

Out of nerves, Jaskier quietly narrates everything he's doing. Which, blinded, helps Geralt sort through the many small noises Jaskier is making. He’d never imagined enjoying Jaskier’s nervous chatter until now.

"Food or bath first?" Jaskier asks.

"Bath." The smell in his nostrils is too off-putting for food.

Eventually Jaskier has a fire, hot water, hot food, and first aid organised. Geralt can feel the cold night air on his skin and muddy clothing, with his swords, armor, and boots now in a filthy pile next to him.

"Let's ah.. Let's get you out of this... everything." Jaskier says. "Shirt first?"

Geralt takes his shirt off, grimacing at all the aches and pains this simple movement provokes.

Jaskier puts a hot washcloth in his hand, and says, "How about you clean what you can reach while I check out your injuries, and I'll go over the bits you missed after?

As Geralt enjoys the hot towel cleansing his face, Jaskier asks.

"Geralt. Are you... going to be okay?"

"Probably," Geralt says flatly. He doesn't want to talk or think about it.

"And... what are the, er... factors, that tip the scales on that particular equation?"

"How much I got in my eyes, how long it takes us to access a remedy. Whether my eye's mutation is vulnerable to this sort of venom."

"Ah... I can only help with one of those."

"Which is why we have to get out of here at first light... Done."  
Geralt says, holding out the washcloth for Jaskier to take.

Jaskier keeps a finger trailing over the Witcher’s skin, so he always knows which cut or bruise Jaskier will be touching next. Every single touch is gentle as possible, and efficient as possible, with Jaskier asking every now and then for Geralt to turn towards the firelight. 

By the time he's finished, Geralt is spotless, clean, and surprisingly comfortable, smelling of ointment. 

"Nothing terrible, just won't be comfortable to sleep on." Jaskier comments as he dumps out the dirty water downwind of camp.

"I could've told you that." Geralt says.

Jaskier tells him to put his arms out, and Geralt does so. The clean shirt is shaken off of Jaskier's arms and onto his own, so that he can slide it over his head easily. Neat trick.

"How did you know keeping your hand touching at all times would make it easier on me?" Geralt asks.

"You probably don't want to hear about it just this moment. I'll get more water." Jaskier says modestly.

Soon Jaskier returns, and Geralt can hear the pot being refilled with hot water.

"And why aren't you blithering?" Geralt asks with a hint of annoyance. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're saying hardly anything. Why."

"Because I am terrible for saying inappropriate things. And that's the last thing you need right now."

"We've fucked, when did you get so delicate?"

"When your blindness gave me an unfair advantage over you."

Geralt just grunts. He appreciates the notion, though, as Jaskier is only doing his best to comfort him.

They repeat the washing and first aid process with Geralt's lower half. There's barely more injury there, but Jaskier puts a bandage around a deep puncture on Geralt's calf that would stick to his clothes otherwise. It's again tender and not in the slightest sexual. And afterwards Geralt feels at once thoroughly relaxed and comfortable in soft, clean clothing, and bereft of touch.

“Here,” Jaskier says, and a mugful of soup is carefully pressed into his hands, hot and fragrant. It makes Geralt's mouth water and his stomach clench, reminding him that they've not been well attended this day.

"Thanks."

"I'll keep watch, tonight." Jaskier says. "I'm sorry, I don't even have good night vision for a human, let alone a Witcher. But... Just give me something like peppermint to chew on, and I'll stay awake. I'll wake you for anything weird. I always do, I suppose.”

Geralt can hear more fussing around and arranging of bed rolls.

"Your swords are right here. And I'm turning my back on the fire, don't worry, I’ve paid attention..."

Jaskier is quiet for a while, Geralt just enjoys the warmth of the fire, listening to it, and the small night noises of animals as he fills his stomach.

"Am I doing it right?" Jaskier asks awkwardly, seemingly out of nowhere.

"What?" Geralt asks, finally saying something in response.

"Looking out for you. It's always the other way around, it seems, with you looking out for me."

Geralt picks up his swords and starts cleaning them by feel and smell, checking for damage, ensuring rust doesn't set in. He shrugs. "That's what Witchers are for, protecting humanity. "

"True.. But still, it's times like this I feel useless," he says quietly.

Geralt is annoyed he can't see Jaskier's face, to pick up some nuance on his feelings. To make a proper answer to whatever’s plaguing him. He settles for:

"You're not useless, Jaskier."

Jaskier smiles to himself, half sadly disbelieving, half thankful for the praise.

Geralt humphs when he realises he's not going to get a verbal answer. Is that what it's like for Jaskier being with him? All he has left is to smell for emotions. Geralt’s heart sinks.

Jaskier smells of fear.


	10. Blindness: part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night.

“Jaskier, you smell of fear.”

"I do? Gods, I must stink to you. Sorry Geralt, I'll see what I can do about that."

That wasn't Geralt's point. Jaskier is right. He's not his usual sweet smelling self. But the point is that it was a rare thing to smell fear from Jaskier, he was rarely this afraid, ever, and never afraid of Geralt. Such a refreshing point of difference. Usually the bard was excited by Geralt's dangerous exploits, not fearful. It sets his mind to mulling on it.

Roach does too. She's a brave horse, but she's built to run from danger, not face it, like him.

"You want me to brush Roach? " Jaskier asks, noticing Geralt's attention. 

"No, I'll do it." Roach is easy to find. She's been waiting patiently for her share of attention. Geralt soothes and thanks her for her hard work. Walking through a swamp isn't easy.

Geralt hears the splash of water and soft humming as Jaskier bathes himself, smells the soap.

Once they're both finished grooming, they return to the fire. Jaskier smells much more like himself again.

Jaskier hands him a second cup of stew. Geralt relaxes into the familiar routine until he realises there's a smell missing. There's no smell of stew on Jaskiers breath.

"You haven't eaten." Geralt states.

"Um.. You always make sure I've eaten my fill before you start, if I'm sick. Just thought I’d return the favour." Jaskier says.

"Because Witchers can go hungry, bards can't." Geralt growls at Jaskier’s stupidity.

Again Jaskier makes no verbal answer.

"Fear." Geralt sighs.

"What?" Jaskier startles. 

"You smell of fear sweat again. What’s wrong with you." Geralt grumbles.

"Sorry.. " Jaskier says brokenly.

"I don't mean..." Geralt feels like a complete arse. And he can't even see how much it's affecting Jaskier. He just reaches out an open hand instead, expression apologetic

"I think it's because I'm responsible for getting us back in time to save your sight." Jaskier finally answers. "And I'm not you. I'm not even Demitrii. I don’t know if I can do this."

"Jaskier, if I lose my sight, it will be because I was too slow, not you." Geralt assures him gruffly.

"But-"

"The temple of Melitele will just have to work harder, if white honey doesn't fix me. They've fixed worse than this before." Geralt brooks no doubt.

"Ok. Ok. Sorry. I just.. I rely on you a lot. And now, you have to rely on me. It’s scary." Jaskier admits. Somehow more comfortable confessing his failing to a blind man.

"Are you really so fearless all the time because you have perfect trust in me to conquer anything and everything?"

"Yes?" Jaskier says, uncertainly.

"No wonder you're so insufferable. " Geralt says grumpily, but he's smiling with it. "I'm not immortal, Jaskier. "

"I know. But it's also really easy to get caught up and feel like I'm watching a saga in the making. You're so powerful, and resolute. So It never occurs to me you could fail, in the moment. But I'm not... Like that, and it feels like I'm already failing." He says, so quietly it blends into the fire.

"You don’t have to fight a kikimore. You just have to make it to dawnlight, then we head northeast until we hit the road, and then it's just a matter of time until we find a town with a remedy. And you can go back to having your daft unshakable confidence in me." Geralt assures him.

"Geralt, can I hug you now, please?" Jaskier asks.

Geralt opens his arms. Jaskier folds himself into them, holding him gently, and he just breathes in Jaskier's closeness for a moment. "Thank you. I think I’ve got this fear thing under control, for now."

Geralt takes a deep breath. Jaskier smells like Jaskier again. It makes Geralt not want to let him go. But Jaskier has dinner to eat, and other things to do, so now he’s calm, he leaves Geralt’s arms. 

For once Geralt doesn’t mind his constant closeness, and noise. Roach is a stellar companion in many ways, but she isn’t human. There’s nothing quite like knowing someone’s there when he’s feeling so off kilter. 

“Jaskier, don’t worry about waking me in the night. Do what you need to stay awake. Strum your lute, sing, whatever you need. I don’t care.” 

“Ok.. Thank you. Geralt.” Jaskier says, contemplatively. 

Jaskier does sing. Funnily enough, it’s what finally allows Geralt to let go of consciousness. This soft gentle singing, and barely there strumming. Songs of the small joys of the open road. Songs of sunlight and meadows and dancing with pretty girls in spring.


	11. Part 3: The road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why did you think I sang so many songs about adventure on the road?"
> 
> "Because you are incapable of silence. "

Geralt awakes to darkness... utter darkness. For him, this occurrence is so rare as to be nonexistent. He panics until he remembers. Then he realises he can smell Jaskier. The warm smell of Jaskier close by. He relaxes somewhat.

Geralt sits up, he hears Jaskier off to his left. By the smells, the fire is dead, there’s tea around here somewhere and both Roach and Jaskier have taken a piss recently. 

“Good morning .” Jaskier says chirpily, noticing Geralt. 

“What’s happening.” 

“To be honest. It’s not quite morning yet. “ He comes over and touches Geralt’s wrist. “I was about to saddle up Roach, though she’d be happier with you to help. Everything else is packed. There’s a cup of tea for you though.”

Geralt holds his hands out for it, and Jaskier gives it over as bidden, saying. “I was hoping you could hold your hunger until we’re underway.”

“I can.” Geralt says, notices something about Jaskier, sitting almost touching distance beside him. “You ate.”

“Yeah. Learned from last night.” He sounds pleased with himself. “You want your armour on, or can we get underway without?”

“Without.”

“Ok, then Roach awaits.”

It takes very little time to get going. Geralt is impressed with how well Jaskier helps him saddle Roach properly.

“North East you said?”

Geralt grunts a yes and Jaskier starts leading them slowly. A good gentle start for Roach after such a hard ride yesterday. The rhythm of it is almost like normal, if Geralt pretended that he was simply choosing to keep his eyes shut. Which did help keep back the feeling that something was creeping up on him in the dark.

Jaskier, as usual, is singing. Frequently coming back to the one about Demetrii. Geralt finally realises something.

“Does singing these songs help keep your fear at bay?”

“Yes... why did you think I sing so many songs about adventure while we’re on the road?”

“Because you’re incapable of silence.”

“Well.. that too. Do you have any requests?”

“Keep singing.”

Geralt can hear the increased confidence and happiness in Jaskier’s voice when he does, and it feels as though his song is a soft blanket to keep out the cold. Combined with the gentle scent of him wafting back to him, it's very comforting.

“Geralt... I think I’ve found the road... There’s definitely cart tracks... They’re going North south. I think.”

“Well done. Head north.”

Jaskier dances around crowing in joy. Then he comes and leans on Geralt’s thigh and sighs in relief. The warmth feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joey Batey on the “I’m obsessed with this” Podcast “The Witcher” episode. About 20minutes in.
> 
> “I get about 3-4 proposals of marriage every day on social media.”  
> “... And if I could, I’d marry ... each and every single one of them”  
> .-Joey Batey (is Jaskier.)
> 
> Jaskier (verb) - to fall in instant love without expectation or jealousy. To seduce without thought of context. To bounce into someone's life like a Manic pixie Dream Boy. eg: "I Jaskiered myself into bed with the bartender, and not I'm not sure whether I can drink there any more.


	12. Blindness 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your shirt? The one with the fancy edges?"
> 
> "It's called Cambric lace..."

“Roach, would you mind pushing on, now we’re on a road?”

She snorts. “No you’re right. I need a piss too.”

“Geralt, how are you doing up there?”

Geralt says “Time I took a walk.”

It’s only a momentary break before they’re back on the road again. Jaskier leads Geralt by the hand, while Geralt leads Roach. Once again, if Geralt pretends that it’s on purpose, that he’s just closing his eyes to enjoy the smell of the forest, and of Jaskier. That this is just an interlude, peaceful? It works to calm him. Which is important. The only other association Geralt has with blindness is his training to blind fight, and the few times he actually has had to fight blind. Being hopped up on adrenaline all day isn’t something that even a Witcher can maintain without suffering for it.

But somehow Jaskier’s gentle grip, and gentle scent are enough. Enough to keep his skin from crawling as it itches to be covered in armour.

“How long until we have to find good graze for Roach?” Jaskier asks.

“Did you feed her the rest of the oats this morning?”

“Yeah, seemed like she’d need the energy.”

“Then she’ll be ok for a few hours yet.” Geralt says, approving of Jaskier’s thinking.

Jaskier sings a song of coming home after a long road. 

They find a small creek, spanned by a stone bridge. There doesn’t appear to be a troll hiding under it, so they use it as a base for a rest. Roach walks straight in and drinks, cooling and watering herself at the same time.

Jaskier leans down and splashes his face.  
“Geralt, there are fish. Do we have time to catch a meal? We’re a little short on provisions.”

“Sure.”

Jaskier pulls a rough pile of fuel into a pile and says. “Geralt, do you mind lighting that up?”

“You want me to cast blind?”

“Yeah. Not towards anything we own. Why, can’t you?”

Geralt grunts. “Line me up.” Jaskier does so, making sure only the bridge is in the firing line. “Stand back” Geralt says, and then a harsh Igni sets it alight.

“Got it!” Jaskier applauds. He guides Geralt to a seat next to it.

Jaskier puts water to boil for more tea. Geralt reflects that it’s probably the only thing keeping the bard on his feet.

Then Jaskier fills water skins and hands one to Geralt before getting down to his task. One after another Jaskier lands fish from the stream. They’re small, no longer than his hand. He cleans them swiftly and spikes them onto twigs to lean over the fire and cook. 

“When did you get so good at fishing?” Geralt asks.

“I used my shirt as a net, just sort of scooped them up in it.”

“Your shirt? The one with the fancy edges?” 

“It’s called Cambric lace. And yes, that’s the one. It’s all right, I think I can repair it.”

“Oh, well never let it be said that you’re not capable of being practical.”

“And never let it be said you’re not capable of being kind to me. It merely turns out that you can’t stand the literal sight of me.” Jaskier returns the wit darkly.

Jaskier reaches out and brushes his arm gently, a soft version of the usual bump or clap on the back. 

“Apologies, but that’s the only salt you’re going to get. I packed ours at the bottom of our bags, and I figure we’ll be on the way too soon to bother with it.” He presses a stick of fish into Geralt’s hand, then starts munching on his own. 

It’s hot, and sweet fleshed. Bones fine enough to pulp and swallow without danger.

It's not a grand meal, but combined with the tea, it's fortifying enough to face more time on the road.


	13. Blindness 5: To town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, youre a Witcher." She asks tentatively. 
> 
> "Geralt of Rivia. Is that a problem?" Geralt asks dryly.

As they're packing up the tea, Jaskier gets an idea.

"Geralt, should we make a disguise?"

"What?"

"Do you want to enter town and be instantly recognised as Geralt of Rivia, now suddenly blind?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, let me darken your hair with the charcoal. And keep your eyes closed. Better yet, can you wear my neck kerchief as a blindfold?"

"Fine." Geralt grumps. But Jaskier is efficient, and gentle. And Geralt is used to the smell of charcoal.

Jaskier’s neck kerchief is silken, and it smells like him. It’s ... well, let’s just say Geralt thinks he knows what Jaskier meant about touching while blind. But really, it's nice, almost like Jaskier is keeping one hand on his shoulder. So he doesn't take it off.

"When we get closer I can cover your armour and swords with a cloak or something."

The forest gives way to signs of humanity, and with directions from a passing farmer, they pick up the pace towards the impending town. By the time they ride in, Jaskier is too puffed to talk.

Just as advised, theres a small house on the eastern side of town with a sign showing the trefoil leaf of honeysuckle on it. 

Jaskier knocks. "Hello? We're looking... for a healer!" The door is answered by a surprisingly young woman.

"Dear lady, I'm Julian Alfred Pankrats, better known as Jaskier the bard, and my friend here needs your help. Can we step inside?" He rambled out, panting.

The healer looks them both over and invites them in.

"I'm Elmina, this is my husband Thomas, he's my apprentice. We will do what we can."

Geralt takes his blindfold off and opens his eyes for the healer to examine She gasps as she sees the luminous yellow. 

"Were they like this before?" She asks uncertainly.

"Yes."

"So. You're a Witcher?"

"Geralt of Rivia. Is that a problem?" Geralt says dryly. 

"I don't know Witcher physiology. " she admits.

"Most don't." Geralt says evenly.

"It's Ok. Do you have white honey?" Jaskier asks. 

"Yes." She says, relieved. "Yes I do. Thomas, the black case."

Thomas leaves to fetch the stock of remedies.

"What did this?" Elmina asks.

"Kikimore." Geralt says simply.

"I'd say that you're lucky to be here. But I guess that's your job."

"There is surprisingly little damage to the surrounding skin." She continues, examining him.

"My bard performed first aid." He says, and Jaskier claps a hand on his shoulder. 

"Let me apply the white honey." She tips back his head. Geralt barely flinches as it gets dropped in.

"I can feel it. " he says. Its like a pressure, a tingling or burning that worms it's way into his skull.

"Good." she hands Jaskier a tiny bottle of it.

"Apply another dose like that in an hour, and another in the morning. If he has any further reactions, bleeds from the eyes, vomits or convulses, bring him back. But there should be improvement overnight. If he still cannot see tomorrow, I will have to get creative. Or you will need to travel far to seek other help."

Elmina continues speaking to Geralt.  
"I'd like to see you tomorrow. To check if this is improving. Will you stay in town?

"We will. Which way is the inn?" Geralt asks.

"West, the donkey kick. Named after the local spirit . I'd steer clear of drinking it if I were you."

Jaskier pays, then pulls Geralt out of the room by the hand. Roach is stabled, a room secured, and packs are brought up to the room. Jaskier settles them in, and fusses over Geralts needs.

After the hour, Jaskier doses him again and Geralt's slowly clearing eyes finally get a little focus back. Jaskier has seriously messy hair, and dark circles under his eyes. His stubble is feral and he has charcoal on his nose. The focus blurs out a moment later, leaving him with vague shapes again, but he's definitely improving. 

"Jaskier, you look like shit." Geralt says sardonically. 

"You can see?"Jaskier asks, shocked. "You can see!" He holds Geralt's face as he looks into those buttercup yellow eyes.

"Yeah. Though the view isn't worth what I paid." Geralt quips.

Jaskier just collapses in relief, laughing, then he throws his arms around Geralt in glee. Geralt gathers him in close, breathes him in, then he leans them both back on the bed, relaxing. Close and warm, making Jaskier use Geralt as a body pillow. 

"I'm so glad it worked. I was not looking forward to going all the way to the temple of Melitele with you like that." Jaskier says. 

Geralt hmms agreement and just keeps holding him.

"This feels nice." Jaskier says. His eyes close and shortly afterwards, he takes on all the characteristics of sleep, relaxed muscles, rhythmic breath, stillness.

Geralt holds him very gently. Jaskier held it together the whole time. Got them both out of the swamp, and got Geralt cured, on the back of no sleep, some cups of tea, a lot of singing and sheer willpower. He deserves all the rest he desires, and the pillow of his choice.

Heavy though he is, Geralt manages to start falling asleep with Jaskier draped half on top of him. 

"Thank you, Jaskier." He murmurs, and because the bard can't feel it, feels bold enough to plant a kiss in his soft brown hair.


	14. Blindness 6:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More interlude
> 
> ..  
> "Why can't you say something like that to the pretty women you get starry eyed over?" Geralt asks in amusement. 
> 
> "I don't know. " Jaskier says, throwing his hands up in the air.

They wake to darkness. It's the regular sort of darkness, light spills in through cracks, and night time sounds surround them.

Geralt wakes first, tensing momentarily until realising that it’s Jaskier who’s still acting as his bedspread. He relaxes again, and smells Jaskier’s hair. He smells like home. A huge relaxing breath runs through his chest.

Jaskier stirs, then takes a sharp breath. Looks around in startlement, and up at Geralt’s face.

“Good evening. Bed comfy enough I hope?” Geralt says sardonically.

“The mattress is a little lumpy ... I hope there’s still time for me to sing for our supper.” he says, sitting up and wiping sleep from his eyes. He finds the candle and strikes it.

“No idea.” 

“How are your eyes?” Jaskier asks, leaning close to get a look at them in the light.

“Better. You said you had experience with touching people while being blindfolded.”

“Yes.” 

"I should get you to demonstrate one of these days." Geralt says, pinning him with his gaze.

Jaskier goes speechless for a moment. "... Careful, I might start to think you like me." 

Geralt shrugs it off. “I’m just trying to find out how you get so many people into your bed considering you have some of the worst pick-up lines known to humanity.”

“Oh.. that’s not fair. I usually have excellent pick-up lines. Sitting next to you gives me performance anxiety.”

“Me?”

“You may have noticed this once or twice, but you’re very, very masculine. I rather.. pale by comparison.” He gestures to himself in general and runs his hand over his uneven stubble. Then goes searching for his shaving gear.

"People either run away or fight me as soon as I look at them. You have no competition from me." Geralt scoffs somewhat bitterly.

“Oh yeah. I forget that your eyes take some getting used to. They're just so beautiful to me, like sunshine on daisies. I forget that eyes should be any other way." He says, looking into Geralt's eyes softly.

"See, why can't you say something like that to the pretty women I watch you get so starry eyed over." Geralt quips.

"I don't know. You must have magic cock blocking powers." Jaskier throws his hands up in the air. 

"If that were true, I wouldn't have to save your arse from those you cuckhold. " Geralt grumps.

"You haven't had to do that in years." Jaskier grouses as he shaves with only water and his hand mirror.

"All right, I'll see if I can rustle us up some food and something to drink. You feel like risking having some donkey kick?"

"No. Getting blind drunk isn't appealing for some reason." Geralt says, dry as sand.

"Ok. If I'm not back in five minutes.. don't come looking, the barmaid is just cuter than expected."

"I shall hunger stoically in solidarity with your desperate need to practice your flirting. "

Jaskier makes a rude gesture and shuts the door behind himself. The smell of him lingers on Geralt's clothing. 

He tests out his sight again. It’s still pretty much impossible to focus, and trying hurts, but there’s definite improvement. He wonders whether to simply meditate, or to try repairing things or just go back to sleep. None of them exciting options.

He’s still mulling it over when Jaskier reappears. He's carrying two bowls of soup and a big roll to share. It's cabbage and sausage, with a blob of some beetroot condiment and sour cream on top. It smells well seasoned, and Geralt is grateful for it. Jaskier tears the bread open, releasing a delicious wheaty smell that makes both their mouths water.

They eat together in silence a moment, appreciating proper, hot, filling food.. 

"So they want your singing?" Geralt asks.

"Yeah... Do you want to come watch? " Jaskier asks, hopefully. 

Geralt shrugs. "I'd like a pint. I'll see how thirsty I am after that."

Jaskier looks relieved. Keeping an eye on Geralt still feels important, but he's not going to say so out loud.

Jaskier does a quick warm up as he dresses and tunes his lute. It's so normal, when did this become the new normal? Jaskier picking a simple song that suits his mood and, singing it to Geralt, replacing random lyrics as so pleased him, trying to make him laugh. Even though Geralt had no training in music, and couldn't catch half of the clever musical things Jaskier was doing.

"I'd ask how I look, but you’re biased." Jaskier says airily.

"Towards Roach, you mean? That reminds me, I'll check in on her before I get a drink. See you in there." Geralt smiles sardonically.

“Give her my love.” Jaskier replies.

Geralt raises an eyebrow in question and Jaskier grins and does a little prance out the door. Geralt huffs a laugh almost despite himself. Out in the stable it turns out someone did a decent job of looking after Roach. She just needs a little extra tlc, and Geralt is happy to give it, speaking to her softly as he does. 

"Thanks for looking after me the last few days. I'll make sure you get a rest before we head out again." Geralt soothes.

"And thanks for being nice to Jaskier, he's an idiot sometimes, but he really cares." Geralt confesses.

He gives Roach a last pat, and happy to see she's doing ok, he goes to get himself a drink.

He realises suddenly that with darkened hair, and no armour, he still has no marks of being a Witcher. If he puts Jaskier's neck kerchief back over his eyes, he can be anonymous for a little while longer. It's so thin that he can see through it enough to navigate.

For some reason, that appeals. He goes back to the room, borrows Jaskiers floofiest pale blue shirt, puts the neck kerchief on, and takes only the one sword with him, using it as though the scabbard is a walking stick.

He gets served without a hitch, keeping his voice a murmur as though shy, and he sits at his customary spot, back to a wall at the darkest table. An older man joins him. Talks a little, doesn't mind Geralt’s taciturn nature.

"The disease that stole your sight steal your voice eh? Well it hasn't stolen neither of our throats nor ears, so here's to ale and a good song, yeah?"

Geralt raises his pint in agreement, and with that the man proceeds to get himself steadily drunk through Jaskier's performance, otherwise keeping himself to himself, until the bawdy songs make him laugh and nudge Geralt with his elbow, making the odd comment upon the song as he gets drunker, more relaxed.

It's pleasant. Strangely so. Apparently Jaskier's constant closeness has worn the rough edges off Geralt's desire to be left alone. 

This low pressure companionship is new. Generally people near him were there for a definite reason, and things were expected on either side. This man was here because... why not? Geralt didn't smell of death or look like a killing machine, and the guy really wasn't looking for much more than that out of a table partner. 

Jaskier spots him eventually, and grins, relaxing. Geralt raises his cup in salute, and Jaskier winks.

After singing for a relatively modest time for him, Jaskier slows the songs, bringing out sweet romances, and then a poignant tale of adventure gone wrong. A fiancee left to sing alone, hoping her voice will bring her beloved home, not knowing the monster has taken him, and instead she's calling the monster to devour her too. They end as bones together in the monsters lair. 

Then he sings a song of the Witcher, killer of monsters, saviour and avenger. Half the inn cheers in solidarity. The man next to him included. “Scary buggers witchers. Brave though, no wonder people think they have no feelings.”

“You believe Witchers have feelings?” Geralt asks, surprised.

“Of course. Why bother protecting people otherwise? They’re powerful angry violent bastards. Could just terrorise people for money, but they don’t. Apparently they need to ease their conscience to sleep at night, just like us. Comforting to know.”

“First time I’ve heard Witcher’s described as comforting.” Geralt replies, amused. 

“Weren’t you listening to the song we just heard?” the man asks. 

“I.. “ Geralt thinks a little. It didn’t use the word comforting, but the stuff about people home safe in their beds, while the witcher was out alone in the night. The tone of Jaskier’s voice hadn’t been jealousy for the regular people, it had been the comfort of knowing a protector was out there, doing something hard and scary. “I guess I wasn’t listening with the right ears.”

“Whose ears were you listening with?” the man asks.

“A witcher’s.” Geralt says shortly.

Geralt stands up, and picks up his sword as Jaskier makes his way over to the table. The drunken man takes a closer look at him. “Oh my word.”

“Thank you for looking after my friend.” Jaskier says to the man, his smile dazzling as always.  
“He’s..” The man stammers.

“I know. Aren’t I lucky?” Jaskier says, and with a wink puts his arm around Geralt.

“Come on. I think I can get us a pot of hot water. Close enough to a bath for tonight, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” Geralt says. And they go to find domestic comforts and privacy.


	15. Blindness 7: seeing painfully clearly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soppy soppy softness on both sides.  
> ...
> 
> “What’s up with you? Jaskier says. Geralt just sighs heavily. Annoying, caring bloody bard.  
> "Tell me, please?"

Geralt doesn't want to think about why Jaskier says so much in song, and with such feeling, when he doesn't usually in person. He doesn't want to know why a song made Jaskier cry over him. He doesn't want to think about how knowing these things affects how he feels. He doesn't want to think about why Jaskier smells like safety.

He didn't think about it while he was blind. As always in emergencies, he just got through it. Kept calm and did whatever worked. What worked was smelling Jaskier. And now his body wanted to keep doing it, always. Which was unreasonably scary for the under-examined reasons mentioned.

There are too many thoughts Geralt doesn't want to think building up, now that he's past the emergency. Which makes him want to panic, which is ridiculous. He’s sitting on the floor with his shirt off, leaning on the bed, while Jaskier sits on the bed, legs dangling either side of Geralt. He croons sweetly while he washes charcoal out of his hair. It’s about as calm and normal and comforting as things got. Why the panic.

"Don't sing." Geralt grumps. 

"What? .. fine." Jaskier concedes, noticing Geralts tension.

He wants to lose himself in Jaskier’s smell, and forget all about how Jaskier feels about him, and how he feels about Jaskier. Just focus on the physical. The physical was simple. 

Jaskier didn’t smell aroused in the slightest though. He was as innocent as a maiden, and light as a sparrow as he dried Geralt’s hair gently. 

When had Jaskier stopped constantly doing and saying sexy things around him? No random seducing any more, and just when it would be useful to just flirt back and get things started. 

“You’re a little tense, Geralt. Anything I can help with? Is it your eyes?” Jaskier asks, his hands resting on Geralt’s hunched shoulders.

"In a way. About that blindfold thing." Geralt starts.

"Yeah..." Jaskier says, hands stilling for a moment in Geralt's hair, not sure where this is going. 

"You up for showing me now?" Geralt looks back over his shoulder at Jaskier to see his reaction.

"Are you sure? You just got your sight back. " Jaskier sounds gentle and caring. Fucking bard, live up to your reputation as horn bag and make a move, dammit.

"So? Why not? What else are we doing?" Geralt asks irritably.

"Well, if you're bored or something ..." Jaskier says in sarcastic confusion.

"Or something." Geralt says, and turns around.

"I just... can't imagine you wanting to be blindfolded by anyone." Jaskier says.

"How about you fuck me as well then?" Geralt tries somewhat desperately, sure the lure of novel sexual activities will excite the bard... he comes up onto his knees to face him.

"What?" Jaskier removes his hands entirely from Geralt, shocked. Geralt chases his touch, leaning in, grabbing Jaskiers thigh, kneading it. 

"Show me what I should do to someone else. You know, a full demonstration."

"Geralt, you shouldn't have to do those things for the sake of a demonstration."

Geralt just gives up trying to seduce the stupid bard with words and kisses Jaskier, desperately hard. Jaskier kisses him back.

"Oh.. " Jaskier says. Geralt kisses him down onto the bed, pleased that Jaskier finds him as arousing as usual. Jaskier just wraps his arms around Geralt, and Geralt rakes him with fingernails, growling. 

Geralt pulls Jaskier's shirt off frantically.

"You are in the strangest mood." Jaskier says.

"Stop talking." Geralt says, nipping at Jaskiers neck softly, thoroughly.

"It's me. And I'm worried about you. How exactly do you think I'll be able to do that?" Jaskier says, managing to resist Geralts advances long enough to look him in the eye, not letting Geralt run away.

"Fuck." Geralt says, stymied.

"Geralt?” Jaskier just holds him gently.

“If you touch me, you'd better fuck me.” Geralt says.

Jaskier leaps into action. But not the desired ones. He wriggles and scrambles backward, out of Geralt’s arms, moving into a crouch on the corner of the bed. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s up with you? Jaskier says. Geralt just sighs heavily. Annoying, caring bloody bard.  
"Tell me, please?"

Geralt sits on the bed. "You're just so fucking... temporary, Jaskier. "

Jaskier sits back on his heels, processes what Geralt is talking about. There’s a long moment of silence, as Jaskier takes in every part of Geralt’s naked posture, and expression, both of which look like a wounded animal. 

"Geralt... " he begins gently. "You've lived a long life before me, and hopefully you'll live a long life after me too. And.. Hearts break, but they can be mended. With time, and trust, and alcohol and forgetfulness, and new love, and hope. Trust me, I've done it a thousand times. So can you, you giant, scary, soft, soppy, romantic Witcher." Jaskier says fondly.

"What the fuck are you saying, Jaskier?"

"Tell me that I'm wrong, tell me that you're not running scared because you’ve just realised that you love me. Me, a ridiculous and habitually fickle human." Jaskier says it so softly. His eyes so gentle, and somewhat self reproaching.

Geralt's expression becomes even more pained, and he pushes up and away from the bed. Jaskier catches his hand, doesn't let him run far. Geralt stops. Stands tense and closed off.

Jaskier continues pouring out soft, heart felt words. "And you're right to fear me. I will break your heart, one way or another. I'm human, and that means I'm both mortal, and flawed." 

"Worse, the only way out of this is through, there's no easy exit you can take by dumping me out of your life. You can't fix this by un-loving me somehow. It's too late for that." 

"So.. This is scary, and it's going to hurt you no matter what you do. And no matter what I do. But if you give me your hand, I'll hold it." He punctuates by squeezing Geralt's gently between both if his own. "And I'll never let go, not until you ask me to." Geralt looks down at him, and Jaskier looks back up, steadfastly.

"I loved you as a friend first. And that means I'll love you always. Always, Geralt. So will you walk this path together with me, a while longer? I'll do my best to make it worthwhile."

Geralt's posture breaks, muscles shifting under their veil of scars.

“Will you trust me with your heart, just for a little while?” Jaskier says, pleading, offering.

"Yes." Geralt says, in a voice that’s almost like his soul leaving his body. Soft and raw and deep.

Jaskier brings the hand he's holding to his mouth, and kisses it ever so gently, big blue eyes looking straight into Geralt's own. "Good, because I have definitelygiven you mine."

Geralt looks like he's going to break. He kneels down in front of Jaskier. Jaskier just presses Geralt's hand against his cheek.

"Is this.. realisation, of what we mean to one another, why you tried to jump my bones just now?"

Geralt takes a deep breath. "No. Yes... I wanted to pretend it was only physical between us. That if I just got enough sex with you, this ... " he presses his hand over his chest. "... feeling would lessen, or go away. Or change."

“I’d hope I was a better bed partner than to bore and disappoint you out of love with me. You haven’t had complaints so far, anyway.” Jaskier says, lightly joking.

Geralt doesn't laugh.

"It was never my goal to seduce you into love with me, Geralt. This wasn't... “ He gestures between them. “Expected."

Jaskier picks up Geralt's other hand. "I know I'm not someone you meant to fall in love with, I'm not someone you've asked the world to keep with you. And I really am trying not to be greedy for you, because of that. I don't ask for forever, or your whole heart or any of those other cliches. I ask only for whatever you freely give. And I will cherish your love as long as you're willing to give it to me. The same as with your touch. I won't try to steal you back from someone else who makes you happier. And I won’t try to touch you if you don’t want me any more."

Geralt's eyes shimmer as he processes what Jaskier is saying, without quite saying.

"The whole problem with me is that I can't promise you forever either. And I can’t promise you’ll be my only love. I don’t... work like that, never have. But I am always your friend, and I’ll never purposely hurt you, so tell me what you want from me, and I’ll put my heart behind doing it.”

“I don’t know what I want from you.” Geralt's voice cracks, and he buries his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier gathers him in, thinks a moment.

"Geralt. I'm guessing you've never had a friend who is also a lover."

Geralt makes a derisive snort at the idea.

"So all of this might be feeling particularly intense for you right now, just because of that. This is new territory for you. So, I'm more than willing to tread gently right now. Because I have been stupid, sopping, heart rendingly in love with you for... some time, and that's not going to change easily."

Geralt squeezes him. Tight.

"And since it just so turns out you're as much of a big hearted romantic fool as I am, I guess we’re kind of stuck with one another, at least for now." Jaskier gives a little smile.

Geralt huffs a disbelieving breath, but doesn't let go at all.

"The idea of that doesn’t scare me at all, and I think that’s because I’ve had time to get used to it. So I’m hoping that given enough time, it won’t scare you either, ok?” Jaskier says, stroking Geralt's hair. 

“How can something as deep as love not scare you?” Geralt rumbles quietly, distressed, disbelieving.

“Because I've swum these waters before, and I will teach you all I've learned, if I can. And I will never give up on trying to make things good, no better, between us. But... for now... can I hold you, and tell you lullaby stories, until we fall asleep in each other’s arms, and tomorrow, tomorrow we can try not to piss one another off as we figure this.. This whatever we are, out?” 

That's when the big scary Witcher nods, and tears spill from his eyes as all that pent up tension breaks within him and leaks out however it can. And his bard pretends not to notice, and just holds him. 

And while his shoulders heave ragged breaths, Jaskier blows out the candles, and loosens his laces, and snuggles in comfortably under the covers with Geralt. As though they are the only spot of warmth in the world. As though they are safe from every danger, even from what tomorrow might bring. 

Jaskier pillows Geralt's head on his chest, strokes his hair and lets him hear the human quick, steady beat of his heart, the vibration of his sweet bardic voice as he begins: 

"Once upon a time..."


	16. Morning light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Editing by TayTay0403

Blindness 8

Jaskier wakes, slightly blearily, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and tries to piece together what is happening.

There is a giant looming Geralt, there is daylight, there is a warm bed and a plate of ham topped bread, with a side of fresh curd cheese and sliced radish. His stomach rumbles.

The Witcher is looking impossibly thoughtful and distant. Jaskier tries to remember exactly what happened last night, and what it all meant. He's still piecing it together when Geralt notices he's awake and says calmly, "Don't talk about serious things. Too early for that."

"Serious meaning..." He trails off hesitantly, gesturing between the two of them. 

Geralt nods once, then swiftly changes the subject. "Talk about what we're going to do today."

"The very unserious topics of finding out whether you are able to see, and if you'll get paid for killing the monster that blinded you?" Jaskier asks lightly. "Speaking of which, how is your sight?" 

"Surprisingly good." Geralt suddenly notices how lovely Jaskier looks mussed and tucked into bed. Overriding the swirl of thoughts and emotions, he reaches out and cups Jaskier’s cheek briefly. 

Jaskier looks surprised, yet pleased. Casual affection is a nice addition to their relationship. "The view turned out to be worth it, then?"

"You could say that. Eat." Geralt says, handing him the plate.

"Breakfast in bed? I haven't had this since I was a child." He says, surprising Geralt (as he commonly does) with a random ‘rich boy’ statement.

Jaskier digs in with gusto. The last few days had been... a lot, physically and emotionally, and his body is demanding extra provision. 

"Good ham.” Jaskier says. “You eaten yet?”

Geralt nods. 

"I think I saw the Alderman's office on the way into town." Jaskier says. "We can take the eye with us to Elmina, take out three eyes with one stone, as it were."

He adds belatedly. "Assuming no one disturbed Roach and her gruesome cargo overnight." 

"You left the eye in the stable?" Geralt grumps. 

"Covered in an upturned bucket to hold the smell." Jaskier replies. 

Geralt hmms. Then asks. "You're singing tonight, I presume."

"Yeah, I got that impression from the innkeeper." Something occurs to Jaskier. "Geralt, before I woo my audience, in the vein of avoiding... serious stuff, should I avoid singing any of the love songs I've written about you?" Jaskier asks hesitantly . 

Geralt goes blank with shock. "You've written love songs about me? Plural?"

"Yeah, it's been... some time, that I've been in love with you. So, it would be weirder if I hadn’t, really." Jaskier explains awkwardly.

Geralt cannot bring a single love song to mind that would describe him. Plenty of the ones painting him as a hero, yes. Jaskier’s love songs were either wrenching or mythic or humorous -- sometimes all three. But none described him, did they? "Name one. " 

Jaskier’s voice is small and hesitant when he responds, "The Lei of the Dryad in Autumn."

Geralt looks stunned. It’s one of Jaskier’s most beautiful and delicate songs. It's also one of his oldest, that Geralt is aware of. "That... can't be."

There’s only one way to prove it to him. Jaskier picks up the sad, winding melody in the middle of the lei. Softly, just for Geralt's ears. 

_"Solemn stands the dryad, the wind cold in her eyes, pallid is her skin, and fall the leaves golden in her gaze._

_“The world tumbles down around her, her summer song is gone, no harvest left among the trees. Quiet does she walk alone,_

_“The stoic doe trails in her wake, one leans on the other's warmth, no space between the two, which one guards, which is the faun._

_"The waxing winter brings whiteness in her hair. The embers of her sight, twin fires flicker still at night. Cold runs her blood in snow, icy as her will._

_"Wild running as her forest, but now carved small by human hands, swift as her rivers are her feet,_

_“And gone, gone from your sight in a blink. No more can you chase her, than you can chase the summer warmth. They belong to the world and earth, are not ours to own. <_/p>

_“A beauty beyond human. Everlasting and yet mortal as the flower picked._

_“She belongs to herself, and to her path, winding through the trees. Her song made of a thousand small silences, treasured by no human ear, seen by no human eye._

_“Startle she does, as the doe, fearing our sharp blade. For hunters are we in her realm, she has no space in ours. We carve our will upon her skin and bleeds she as we do. We, foolish, think her dead as doors but no, she lives stronger yet, she lives fiercer than we do."_

Jaskier falls silent. 

Geralt is stunned by the realization he’s made. "That's me... me and Roach.” It takes a moment before words spill breathlessly from him.

He continues, voice growing stronger. “People cry over that song. The Kingdom of Anchorest has raised a band of women to patrol and stop logging near their dryad forest, and they brought white stones all the way from the coast to warn people away from it. Each autumn they mark the trees with chalk if they want to take them, and allow the dryads time to remove the marks, so that they only take the ones that are ready to fall, like a wolf with a flock of deer, keeping the forest strong, while keeping the people who love the forest warm."

"Do they?” Jaskier asks in awe. “That's wonderful."

"That song, the song that enchanted a kingdom to give reprieve to one of the last stands of dryad wood on the Continent, that was your first love song to me?" Geralt asks in disbelief, his intense gaze on Jaskier.

"Yeah... wrote it after the first time you slowly disappeared into a forest one autumn day on a hunt, and I realised that soon winter would take you from me. It hurt, yet it was the most beautiful and natural thing for you to do, and I sighed and realised you were like a dream, or a dryad. Mine to experience, when I was lucky, but never to capture and hold."

Geralt was the one who said no serious talk, but he's swept away by his feelings. He kisses Jaskier on the temple, on the neck, gathers him gently, insistently, into his arms, onto his lap. He looks up into his eyes with wonder, searching, like Jaskier was the dryad, the mermaid: A rare creature to be cherished and experienced, and never frightened away.

"Are you sure?" Jaskier asks, leaning into Geralt’s touch on his cheek.

"Yes." Geralt replies, and kisses him again.

With that, Geralt begins to make love to Jaskier like a man possessed. For once Jaskier doesn't fill the silence with words, because this isn’t silence. On the contrary, Geralt is speaking volumes with each look and touch he gives, each action making it clear how much Jaskier means to him.

A hand reaches to push back the bard’s shirt, as Geralt looks up at him, imploring him to be allowed to touch gently like this. Reverently. Jaskier is struck dumb by Geralt’s depth of feeling. He feels oddly fragile, like he might cry at any moment, his heart in his throat. He tries to return the attention, but as he does, Geralt simply holds Jaskier’s hands in his own, kisses them, and returns them to rest. Clearly, this was an oration, not a dialogue. 

Jaskier feels cast adrift. Long ago he’d made peace with the idea that Geralt would never feel anything like this for him. Not even with their recent sexual encounters did he ever believe that Geralt could feel this way. Geralt isn’t merely attracted to Jaskier. He worships Jaskier like he’s some sort of miracle. It’s rather overwhelming. Especially since Geralt is rarely good at communicating his feelings, but this... this is impossible to misunderstand.

Once every part of Jaskier has been revealed, touched, cradled, and kissed by Geralt, he turns his attention - and his mouth - to Jaskier’s erection. Jaskier arches back against the bed, his responding sounds are as expressive as his songs. 

Geralt may or may not be cursed never to be able to speak his emotions, but that isn’t stopping him from eloquence right now, a subtlety and nuance of emotion in his expressions. Jaskier, for his part, sings a love song to Geralt without words - his voice rising and falling in cadence with Geralt’s touch. A duet. 

“Please... I want you inside me. Filling me.” Jaskier says, rather breathlessly.

“I don’t know how… I don’t want to hurt you.” Geralt responds gently.

Jaskier takes Geralt’s hands in his own as he says, “I can teach you.”

With soft words and soft touch, Jaskier instructs Geralt, encourages him. Slowly, carefully, thoroughly, until both of them are fused as one. Jaskier’s back flush against Geralt’s front. Geralt's arms holding Jaskier in close embrace, Geralt’s breath on Jaskier’s cheek. Curled together on the bed, legs intertwined. Jaskier is weak with desire, with arousal, with sensation, overwhelmed with feelings of love. Seeing his total absorption in lovemaking, Geralt relaxes and moves them both together, their pleasure found in one another. Rising, flowing, building, until orgasm takes them both, him gripping Jaskier tightly as though they could somehow be closer. They lie tangled together, panting, sated, and overwhelmed.

Afterwards, Geralt sits on the edge of the bed and broods. Jaskier notices almost immediately.

"Are you pissed off because we weren't supposed to be doing the serious stuff?"

"No. I'm pissed off that I didn't figure all this out sooner. Now there's a whole dam of emotions breaching in front of me and all I can do is scramble to hold on to something solid, and hope my breath isn't pressed from me by the flood."

Jaskier reaches out, gently touches Geralt. "Best thing about metaphorical dams breaking over you, is that you can be like a phoenix, and anything that quenches your fire is something you can be reborn from."

"Fucking bard and your fancy words. You use them like swords." Geralt says, with disbelief of how touched he feels.

Geralts can practically hear the smile in the bard’s voice as he responds; "Sorry, I was trying to use them more like a scalpel, to cut away the disease and let you heal."

"Love isn't a disease." Geralt grunts.

"Nice to hear that from you. I’ve wondered, sometimes." Jaskier says, thoughtfully, words coloured by sadness.

There is a brief pause before Geralt speaks again. "To answer your original question, don't sing any more of the love songs you wrote about me. One was more than enough for now."

"I'll try to stick to bawdy ones then. Though I wrote one of those about you too--"

"No!” He says emphatically, then quiets to thoughtfulness, “No more songs. You can't drop The Dryad in Autumn on me and expect I can deal with it. I've had to hold myself together over that one. I've drained pints so that I didn't cry into them. The Dryad is me?" he repeats, as though he still can’t quite believe it.

“I’m certain it is. I should know..." Jaskier muses from the bed. "I've never had a song of mine be the catalyst for extra-human geo poesis before though." 

"What?" Geralt asks. 

"Geopolitical terraforming organised between different species." Jaskier explains, coincidentally explaining very little.

"Jaskier..." Geralt looks like he has a headache.

Jaskier sounds like his usual, dramatic self as he replies, "I can't just say I've never had a song change the world before, because I have. But according to what you said, I made humans change how they used land, in conjunction with dryads, who are now allowing humans to perform euthanasia within their comensil biomass. That’s new." 

"You."

Pause. 

"Are incorrigible." 

"Oooh, look who has the fancy words now.” Jaskier says in his typical flirty tone. “And I can't help it if you shook all my big words loose with your excellent lovemaking." 

Geralt pushes his shoulder playfully . "Come on, we have to go find out whether I'm stuck looking at you."

“Yes... right. How exactly do we thank the amazing Elmina properly for allowing you to feast yours eyes on all this?” He says, leaning back and gesturing to himself, laid out on the bed. 

“And here I thought you wanted to be able to walk straight today.” Geralt says, leaning in and looking over Jaskier with a wolfish grin. 

“Nonono wait!” He says hurriedly, stopping Geralt. “Destroy my body later. We have things to do.” He hastily starts dressing himself, trying to avoid luring Geralt into another lovemaking session.

“I’ll hold you to that,” the Witcher says playfully.

“Promises.” Jaskier winks at Geralt as he ties laces and straightens fabric. “Do you think anyone’s going to mind that we... you know... made sweet love... loudly.” 

“Ask me how many fucks I give what anyone thinks.” Geralt says stubbornly, and holds out his hand to Jaskier.

Jaskier takes it, and braces against Geralt’s weight to pull himself from the bed, a joyous smile lighting his face.

Together they leave to see what the day holds for them.


	17. Tracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little training after a visit to the doctor. Brief mention of nausea.

Blindness 9

Big blue eyes look deep into Geralt's own, he tries to stay calm under the scrutiny. Elmina waves a finger back and forward to test his reflexes and focus. She follows this with a series of other simple tasks.

"You seem to be coming along quite well." She says. "Does it feel uncomfortable? Are there any problems you’ve noticed yourself?”

Geralt tests his conscious control of his dilation and Elmina gasps and sits back into her seat at the unexpected flare of his pupils. 

"Sorry." she says. "I didn't know you could do that... is it working... normally?"

"Yes. Allows me to see in the dark." Geralt explains.

Elmina takes a thoughtful breath. "I feel very underqualified to help you properly. From what I can tell, your eyes are responding well and will make full recovery, but I wouldn't know what to look for as warning signs that they weren't."

"I'm used to looking after my own wounds." Geralt says, unperturbed.

"I imagine so." Elmina says, looking at the visible scars on Geralt's skin.

Geralt holds up two tiny identical empty glass vials. "Could you sell me two vials of white honey. I usually keep my own stock, but I’ve been... unlucky recently."

"Of course. Just let me sterilise them first." Elmina takes them.

After Elmina gives him a clear bill of health, they walk back to the inn, half of the fee from the kikimore already spent with Elmina. Jaskier asks what they're going to next.

"Need to train." Geralt says, organising his gear and swords.

“ooh.. Maybe you can teach me a little.” Jaskier’s eyes sparkle.

Geralt thinks a moment, responds. “Wear your gloves.”

“You’re not wearing gloves.” Jaskier retorts mulishly.

“I don’t play lute either.” Geralt fires back.

“Point.” Jaskier says, and picks up his full set of gear.

The pair of them find an empty stretch of field to train in. Geralt takes Jaskier through a series of stances to warm them both up.

"Shall we spar, my worthy opponent?" Jaskier asks loftily with a cheeky half smile once they finish the sequence.

Geralt nods, then methodically stretches and flexes every group of muscles, making sure he feels thoroughly warmed up. It gives much the same effect as a big cat warming up for a hunt. Then he focuses on Jaskier, who swallows nervously.

Jaskier is much more subdued as he says. “You aren’t going to scar my pretty face are you?”

“Not likely. But mistakes earn bruises.” Geralt replies honestly.

They clash sticks a few times, Geralt instructing how to block or parry correctly. They repeat, over and over, until Jaskier finally gets it smoothly, instinctively. 

"Good. You're learning."  
Jaskier pokes his stick into the air, singing snatches of various ballads as he makes the series of sword moves he's learned over and over in lone practice.

“We can conquer monsters side by side, a dashing, duo of destruction.” Jaskier says, punctuating each word with a swing or a thrust.

Geralt's response to this exuberance is to crack sticks so hard that Jaskier's swings wide, leaving him completely open. Geralt reaches out and knocks Jaskier akilter with a single shove, landing him on his arse.

“Take this seriously.” Geralt says severely, as Jaskier rights himself.

“I do, I am..." his eyes narrow. "What’s this about?” Jaskier says, recognising real anger behind Geralt's expression.

Geralt is silent a long moment, his gaze flicking around the clearing, then back to his sword. Jaskier waits.  
"You are vulnerable. You make me vulnerable." 

Jaskier just tilts his head in confusion, he knows there’s more coming.

"Witchers have training. We train to keep our head no matter how dire the situation is for us. What's the saying though? Love conquers all? I can't be who I need to in those moments, if you're there."

"Then why the training, the armour?" Jaskier asks, honestly confused.

"Because we are all at the mercy of the world's whims."

“Unusual for you to admit that.” Jaskier chides softly.

Geralt grunts in annoyance. “This is the opposite of fate. This is probability. Eventually, something’s going to catch me, and you, off guard. And your chances are better if you’ve trained.”

“I get it. But I'll tell you now, I learn better when I’m singing. I’m not being flippant, just... I know myself.” Jaskier explains. 

Geralt grunts in acknowledgement, looks Jaskier up and down as he goes to get a drink of water.

“Then get back into first stance, and hold it." Geralt directs.

Jaskier does as told.

Geralt walks around him, correcting posture and footing. "I know your songs keep you from fear. But fear is powerful. I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"Close your eyes.” Jaskier does. “I am going to hit you." Geralt says deceptively calmly.

"What?!" Jaskier turns to face Geralt, eyes wide and arms coming up defensively. 

"Do you take this seriously or not?" Geralt asks.

"Yes..."

"Then back in stance, and shut your eyes!" Geralt rumbles tersely.  
Jaskier can hear Geralt continue to pace around him.

"Fear can give you the strength to run on blisters, on bruises, on broken bones." Geralt’s voice rumbles, with feeling.

Jaskier hears Geralt slapping the training sword against his palm heavily. His mouth goes dry.

"It makes your senses sharp and your mind race. If you can control it, harness it, focus it, it can serve you." 

"I am going to test you. Mistakes will earn you pain, the worse the mistakes, the greater the pain. You must do as I say. Clear?" 

"Y-Yes." Jaskier says, doing his best to master himself.

"Open your eyes." When they snap open, Geralt is in front of him, sword about to swing down on his head.

"Run!" Geralt bellows. Jaskier flees, and hears the training sword thump the ground where he just was. 

"Jump!" Geralt yells. And Jaskier jumps to avoid the low swing under his feet.

"Climb!" Geralt commands, still just behind him. Jaskier scrambles up the nearest tree and doesn't stop until he starts running out of tree. He's rather high up.

"Oh, my word." He says, panting, rather impressed at his physical feats.

"Well done." Geralt calls from down below. 

"I did it!" Jaskier says, feeling elation rush through him as he looks out across fields and treetops. Then his stomach sours and suddenly he's shaking. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Nausea is one of the drawbacks of fear, and over exertion. Be grateful you didn't piss yourself. It'll pass" Geralt calls, amused.

"I'm not sure I know how to get down." Jaskier says in a very unhappy voice as he clings to the tree.

"Make yourself comfortable up there, and give it a few minutes. You're still in the aftershocks." Geralt says, unworried by Jaskiers predicament. 

Jaskier wriggles around a little to sit on a steady branch. "Where's my glove?" He asks, finallynoticing his bare hand.

"You didn't have it properly strapped on, it fell off at about the third branch." Geralt replies. 

"Oh... You're right, fear is powerful." Jaskier says, looking down uncomfortably. 

"It strips you back. Makes you run on animal instinct. You can listen to it, or listen to me." Geralt explains.

"So it's good I listened to you?" Jaskier asks, thinking he’s figured out the lesson.

"Yes." Geralt says. 

"Can we never do that again, please?" Jaskier asks plaintively.

Geralt snorts out a laugh. "Depends on how good a student you are."

"Meaning you won’t if you don't need to teach me twice? Or meaning if I get advanced enough, you're going to do new terrible things to me?"

Geralt shrugs expressively, noncommittal. His eyes dance with mirth. 

"You're a menace." Jaskier says.

Jaskier slides and climbs back down carefully, with swearing as a backing track to the difficulties. By the time he gets to the bottom, he's rather covered in sap and leaves. Geralt hands him his water skin.

"The secondary lesson of this being to always wear training gear to training?" Jaskier asks once he has washed his mouth out. 

Geralt pulls the leaves from his hair with a deft hand, smiling indulgently.

"You look cute like this. Like a little boy."

Jaskier is so flummoxed he spits water. 

"I.. I have realised, that you just enjoy getting me off kilter." He says, enjoying Geralt's soft gaze.

"I don't want you to get too big an ego. Everyone else you meet falls at your feet." Geralt says easily, not denying it.

"No one just falls at my feet." Jaskier scoffs.

"Yes they do, because you are willing to fall at theirs. And it's so enchanting that only a feat of will stops anyone from doing the same." Geralt says earnestly.

Jaskier looks into each of his eyes in turn. ".. that's... you're talking of yourself. Have you honestly thought me trying to flirt you into submission for all these years?"

Geralt grimaces. Annoyingly perceptive bard.

"No, no, no Geralt. I have always flirted with you sincerely, every word. You may distrust my opinions, but never distrust my intentions towards you. I have always been trying to get in your pants for their own merits. No ulterior motive, not even hoping to make you like me more, although I've always desperately wanted that. I don't... I don’t flatter you." 

Jaskier manages to speak with such feeling and sincerity that Geralt is the one off kilter.

"How do you move me so much, with such ridiculous statements?" Geralt asks, his brow furrowed.

Jaskier doesn't manage to organise a coherent reaction to this before Geralt is in his face, kissing him gently, wrapping arms around his waist, purring out a content little noise. 

Jaskier melts into the touch, reaches out to hold Geralt back, tension flowing out of him like water. Geralt smiles at him, even as they kiss. 

When they pull apart Jaskier smiles back. “Have I told you that you’re gorgeous lately?”

“I don’t know why you do it at all, but I’ll put it down to being a soppy bard.”

“Fair.” Jaskier’s cheeky smile makes something twinge deep inside Geralt’s chest.

They find the slope of a hill, and spend a happy hour lying on it, just kissing one another lazily and enjoying the view when they take breaks for air. Geralt kisses Jaskier on the forehead before they both leave to go find lunch.


	18. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is in danger. It makes them finally be more honest with one another.

Jaskier, for once, notices the moment he moves from bearing witness to the fight, to being part of it. 

It’s a daytime hunt, so he and Roach don’t need to be sequestered as far from the action as usual. They’re by a river just as it empties itself into a lake. The day is crisp and bright, and the breeze is dramatically blowing among the trees. He’s awe-struck by Geralt’s efficiency and power, sharing the thrill of Geralt’s triumphs. Feeling like he’s in the middle of an epic ballad as it’s unfolding.

Everything that makes his boyish heart sing, in other words. Until the drowner noticed that Geralt wasn’t the only person there.

"Oh Fuck. " He says, as the drowner turns away from Geralt, and focuses on him.

"Jaskier, climb!" Geralt yells from between riverside willows, thirty paces away. Far too far to help him.

So Jaskier does, oh my word does he, dropping Roach’s reins and scrabbling up a willow without hesitation. The drowner is not built for such activities, but it’s still a near thing as it jumps to grab at Jaskier’s slippery ankles. 

Roach is too sensible to hang around, and trots away at a safe clip, leaving the drowner scrabbling up the tree inefficiently.

Geralt quickly takes care of the last of his watery monsters and advances swiftly on the final one, the one that foolishly turned on Jaskier. It dies quickly. The blood almost splatters high enough to dirty Jaskier’s clothes. Jaskier makes a high pitched noise of disbelief and fear. 

Then there’s silence, except for the unhurried running of the river behind them.

“This is why you shouldn't be here!" Geralt yells up the tree at him, as soon as he’s caught his breath, checked for threats.

"Wait a second, Mr Yelly yell pants. I did good. I climbed the damn tree. And I'm fine." Jaskier retorts hotly.

"You put yourself into danger!" Geralt counters.

"No more than unusual." Jaskier protests.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Geralt growls, brow even more furrowed, now upset at him for an entirely new reason. Word tricks are not going to cut it.

"I mean that for the vast majority of the time we spend on a mission like this, there's nothing more dangerous than uneven ground and biting insects. But comparing the rare occasions that something dangerous happens in my witnessing presence, I didn't do anything different than I usually do, excepting perhaps that I did exactly as you said to when it got nasty."

Geralt just scowls, then looks around the battlefield and the strewn monster corpses. 

"Ah.. ah, see? I have a point." Jaskier points out triumphantly from his safe spot up the tree. 

Geralt’s shoulders slump in defeat. "I just can't take much more of that." He says more quietly, eyes darting. 

"Wait a second, I don't think I heard that one." Jaskier says uncertainly and starts to climb down as Geralt continues to stand and fume. 

"What was that, my dear friend?" Jaskier asks as soon as he's on solid ground. 

"It scared me that you were in danger. I can't take it." Geralt says, as though it hurts to say.

“Hey it’s ok, I’m ok.” Jaskier reaches out and touches Geralt's cheek, one of the few soft exposed parts on the Witcher. "This is new. What makes me different? What makes this different from before?" He asks gently.

"Before, I could pretend that you were just my... biographer, or barker, not my best friend. It kept things... manageable." Geralt explains gruffly. 

"I am still those things." Jaskier shrugs.

"You're also both my friend and lover now. It's too much. I can't brush it off. What if I lose you?" Geralt says, reaching out and holding Jaskier strangely gently, given the tension clear in every muscle. Given he’s still entirely clad in metal studded armour.

"I suppose you can't go find a new bard and name them Jaskier. " Jaskier muses.

"Low blow." Geralt growls.

"Sorry. I'm just... I’m glad I'm irreplaceable to you. It feels good that you admit it to me." Jaskier says, pointing out his personal silver lining of this situation.

"It costs me to admit it." Geralt says, with feeling. 

"I intend to give you fair price. I love you too, Geralt of Rivia. I promise I’m worth it." 

"You are. You're worth it. Just... I was right about it when we started this whole sex thing. You need more training. Knowing you're well prepared is the only thing that really helps settle my mind about this."

"I am, as ever, your willing student in that regard. And I might just be a decent one, after all?" Jaskier gestures to the tree he’s just climbed back out of.

"Yes. Sometimes." Geralt concedes.

"Good, so that settled, just keep training me, and trust that I’ll do ok, that it will be enough. No-one gets a better assurance than that, in this world.” Jaskier says, trying to soothe Geralt. 

“True enough.” Geralt admits, and as Jaskier had hoped, some of the tension leaves him.

“Now, in my role as poetic speechifyer in chief, you cannot refer to our tenuous, but hopefully blossoming, relationship as 'this whole sex thing' ever again. We can be in a Romantic tryst, physical interlocutors, or amical amor. Any of those will satisfy my sense of poetic justice." He says dramatically, hoping to lighten the mood. 

Geralt makes a disgusted grunt. Then quietly. "...How about beloved."

“You’ve been my beloved for as long as I can remember.” Jaskier says sweetly, earnestly, then grins cheekily. “I like terms that make it obvious I’ve licked you in intimate places.” 

Geralt makes a displeased noise, and goes off to collect Roach and reassure himself she’s fine.

“I like the sound of it though, my beloved Geralt.” Jaskier skips up, plants a sweet little kiss upon Geralt’s cheek in passing.

“You’re insufferable. You know that?” Geralt teases.

“Then I am lucky you’re my sweet brave knight, who will martyr yourself for me.” Jaskier says, and 'faints' into Geralt's arms. Geralt makes as if to drop him, and Jaskier grabs at his armour to save himself. 

“You!” Jaskier accuses, as Geralt just picks him up and puts him back on his feet easily.

They both laugh at how ridiculous Jaskier is acting, until Jaskier yawns, the waning adrenaline rush leaving him exhausted. 

Geralt looks around at the carnage. “Time for the gross part.” he says, and this time Jaskier makes the disgusted noise.

..

That night Geralt holds Jaskier close by the fire, Jaskier leaning back onto his chest as they both relax. Geralt kisses his hair while he looks him over, picking up his hands and feeling the muscles and skin almost like he's checking out a horse's breeding, and keeps telling Jaskier about what else he’s going to teach him, as it occurs to him.

"You'll need to learn how to tumble. Don't want you breaking bones just because you fall over." He rumbles quietly.

“I still adore your pillow talk, beloved.” Jaskier says. Geralt gives him a look.

“I’m serious. You’re promising to share the most important and hard earned skills you have with me. It’s... hard to explain how loved it makes me feel.” Jaskier says softly.

“Hmm." Geralt says wryly. “Should I describe armour to you as foreplay?”

“You tease, but that works for me.” Jaskier says.

“Almost everything works for you.” Geralt smirks.

“That’s not.. Ok it is true, if it’s you.” Jaskier says, sincerely, looking up at Geralt with his big blue eyes.

“I... no wonder everyone gets in your bed.” Geralt teases, entranced by his charming honesty, as usual.

“Hey... speaking of others in my bed, how much is that a problem for you?” Jaskier asks, sitting up so he can look Geralt in the eye. They never did quite get to that serious conversation about their relationship. As usual Geralt took action on instinct before putting things into words, and they’d both been hesitant to upset the applecart since the revelation that Geralt kinda sorta definitely loved Jaskier back. "Not that I'm looking for anyone else. I just want to be clear on what you want of me."

Geralt doesn’t take up the option for eye contact for a while, just stares into the fire contemplatively. “Hmmm... If I don’t get a say in it... it’s a problem.” He says, with some certainty. 

His eyes flicking back to Jaskier. “Lydia and Zofia were a good choice, and I wouldn’t have minded knowing you were seeing to them without me.”

“That sort of desire is easy to control when I’m around you, so far. I only wanted to bed Lydia and Zofia because they wanted you so much. Liking you is an attractive quality in anyone” Jaskier fidgets, throwing pieces of stick into the fire. “What about when I’m alone? I assume we're not inseparable, just because of recent events. And I... tend to be more... voracious when I don’t have your company.”

Another long pause, as Geralt builds courage to ask for what he wants. “Is there any way for you to avoid falling in love with someone else and leaving me? I really wouldn’t handle that well.” Geralt understates.

“You mean a Countess De Staell situation?” Jaskier asks.

“Yes. Exactly so.” Geralt growls softly, Jaskier having hit the nail on the head.

“Ah. Such an.. Intense relationship is... rare for me anyway. If it makes you feel better, we’re definitely in an off again situation at the moment. I can... stay away from that particular temptation for the foreseeable future, if that helps.” He speaks lightly, as though it won’t cost him personally.

“It does.” Geralt admits, relaxing a little, so much honesty about his feelings in so short a time has been... costly. The vulnerability is difficult, especially after the day they’ve had.

“Is it bad that I enjoy the fact you’re a little possessive of me?” Jaskier asks, shifting around so he can snuggle into Geralt’s side.

“Seems hypocritical.” Geralt’s eyebrow twitches down in annoyance, as Jaskier gets a sidelong glance.

“Yeah. My heart rarely makes sense, not even to me. Except the part where it fell for you, and never went back on that, not for a minute. That part makes perfect sense to me, always has.” Jaskier says, stroking Geralt’s arm gently.

“You don’t have to flatter me into bed Jaskier.” Geralt says flatly.

“Still not flattery. But I’m glad you like it.” Jaskier smiles.

“That’s an assumption.” Geralt says dryly.

“Oh hush... it makes you uncomfortable precisely because it makes your heart flutter like a maiden.” Jaskier teases easily.

Geralt grunts in annoyance at how well Jaskier knows him. Jaskier rubs his face into Geralt’s shirt.

“Geralt. I’d like to remind you that being good to you is still my number one priority. It’s not going to be hard for me to be faithful to you. I just don’t want to deny my more.. usual instincts if you don’t care either way. And especially not if you’d enjoy watching or some other kinky thing.”

“I’ve never had much option to indulge in the sort of sexual antics you have.” Geralt says, trying not to be bitter about it.

“I’ll have you know that all I’ve ever done is fall in love. It’s my partners who’ve lured me into their various sexual escapades.” Jaskier retorts.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Geralt says indulgently, kissing him on the forehead.

“It’s true. I’ve fallen for someone over a single soft look they’ve given a small child. And I’ve fallen for someone over a single gallant act. But I’ve never fallen for someone over their kink.” Jaskier says.

“That isn’t true even for the last three months.” Geralt scoffs.

“What?” Jaskier scoffs in return, sitting up straight again for a moment.

“Zofia and Lydia?” Geralt explains. “And their theatrical foursomes?”

Jaskier snuggles back into Geralt’s body heat. “That was fun, but I wasn’t overstating it when I said their interest in you was attractive. They spoke of you as.. As if you were a knight, only better, because your sacrifice of your humanity to Witcherhood was greater than a knight’s sacrifice to his lord. And I would’ve been hard right there and then if I were a younger man.”

“Hard to believe they both said that. Lady Lydia did not like my eyes.” Geralts says.

“Well they are intense.” Jaskier says, looking straight into them, a hand on Geralt’s face to steady his gaze. “It’s like I’m being studied clean through to my soul. It's just that I don’t mind at all. Because whenever you do so, you always seem to come back with the answer that I’m worthy. No matter what I fear you’ve seen in me, you don’t reject me for it. Still makes my heart skip.”

Geralt’s heart skips when Jaskier says that. It’s so intense that Geralt draws Jaskier in for a tight embrace, partly to break Jaskiers own intense gaze. Jaskier snuggles in, pleased, and holds him back somewhat awkwardly, squashed as he is.

“But I can see why Lady Lydia would feel.. Exposed by your gaze. Nobility never has clean hands. Not if they’ve been nobility long enough.” Jaskier explains.

“Very true, in my experience.” Geralt agrees, relaxing.

“So.. ?” Jaskier asks.

“So what?”

“So you believe me when I say it’s always about love first, for me. And I won’t willingly betray you? Betray .. us. Such as we are. Because I love you dearly, Geralt.”  
Geralt just hmms uncomfortably.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Jaskier repeats, imploring. 

“Yes, Jaskier. I believe you. It’s just hard to sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know all my deeds. The bad included. Why are you still stuck on me?” Geralt asks, as though he truly has no idea.

“You’re right, I know all your worst decisions, but I also know all the best intentions behind them, and I've seen every time you’ve torn yourself to pieces trying to do better the next time. No one lives a life like yours with clean hands, Geralt. And it’s your iron unwillingness to succumb to your worse nature that allows me to sing so loud and long of your better nature. I have no fear you’ll forget yourself. And if you ever did, I’d be first to tell you so.”

“Trust me that you’re lovable to someone like me. Lovable for who you are, not for my effusive ballard material. The darker parts of your past are.. Beautiful to me, in their own way.”

“You’re either being excessively honest, or overly deluded.” Geralt shifts uncomfortably at the praise.

Jaskier pats Geralt’s arm. “I’m no longer scared you’ll run from me, now that I've outright declared my love and not seen the back of you for it. Get used to me being soppy more often, becauseIadore the softness in your eyes whenever I get it right. I’ll try not to go overboard though.”

“Too late.” Geralt huffs wryly.

“Should I follow your example and just make love to you so fervently that you simply know in your bones how I adore you, withouthaving uttered a word?” Jaskier says, turning inwards to Geralt’s neck, nosing him gently.

Geralt ... stops. Just, tosses the conversation aside and succumbs to Jaskier. Not to his sexual desire, to his love. Just... accepts it, and tries to return it as sincerely as it is given.

Tonight Geralt lets it be a dialogue between them. He initiates their first kiss, but he allows Jaskier to lead from there, to take this intimacy wherever he will. 

“Do with me what pleases you.” Geralt whispers in Jaskier’s ear. 

“Oh Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice is breathy and shaken. “You are a treasure.”


	19. Daft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet gentle lovemaking. That's... about all there is in here.

Geralt looks angry. This isn’t because he actually is. And physically, he’s feeling rather good. But he’s confused. And he has a bit of a problem with resting murder face.

Jaskier is cradling Geralt from behind, looking over Geralt’s shoulder and grooming Geralt's fingernails while they both watch the fire. All while crooning the song from their tryst with the Lady Lydia and her handmaid. Geralt flicks at a random beetle that tries to traverse his bed roll. 

“Relax, dearest.” Jaskier says. 

“I am relaxed.” Geralt complains.

“Are you irritated because I’m implying you’re my Oberon, and I your Titania? Not your cup of tea?” Jaskier asks, kissing Geralt soothingly on the temple.

“No. I’m used to you being odd.” Jaskier scoffs in protest before Geralt continues. “I just thought we’d be...” He trails off gesturing vaguely.

“Having riotous sex by now?” Jaskier asks.

“Hmmm...” Geralt agrees thoughtfully.

“We’ve spent the last hour with you holding me to you like I’m an abandoned foal. It’s my turn to look after you for a moment.” Jaskier remonstrates gently.

“I don’t need to...” Geralt trails off when Jaskier imitates his response along with him. “Be looked after.” Jaskier finishes for him, alone, then kisses Geralt on the temple again. 

“What you need, and what I want for you are different things.” Jaskier says evenly. “And what I want for you is well groomed fingernails. In a minute, I’d like us to be touching one another quite a bit, and if you’re going to be touching me as much as I want, you’re going to be manicured.” Jaskier says evenly.

Geralt just sighs. "Understood. "

"You were hoping I'd do something kinky with you." Jaskier states confidently.

"Hoping is too strong a word." Geralt replies, grumpy again.

"Oh hush. You can have me take you roughly, push or order you around, or tie you up, gag you, blindfold you, spank you, make you come untouched, etc, some other time." Jaskier says, easily naming a litany of kinks off the top of his head. "I do want you to tell me all your fantasies, so you can watch my eyes light up as I try to figure out how to please you best." Jaskier explains casually, as though he's not saying anything particularly arousing. 

"Yeah.. that's more of what I was expecting. " Geralt replies through a suddenly dry mouth, watching Jaskier’s movements.

"Well, you'll have to wait, tonight I want to be gentle with you. Are you okay with that?" Jaskier asked, looking carefully at Geralt's reaction.

Geralt shifts uncomfortably, uncertain. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

Jaskier strokes Geralt gently. "Because I'm going to call you precious. And beautiful. I'm going to cherish you. And I'm going to mean every word of it." Jaskier says, earnestly.

Geralt whines with an emotion he’s not sure whether is discomfort or desire. Arousal or denial. He squirms until he can hide his face against Jaskier. 

"That's my shy gentle Witcher. Let me know if it's too much." Jaskier says sweetly, softly, stroking his hair slowly. 

"You're daft." Geralt growls in annoyance, glancing up at him briefly.

"I am. Happily and thoroughly." Jaskier grins, his face utterly soft with fondness. 

Geralt buries his face even further in embarrassment, partly on Jaskier’s behalf. 

"Forgive me. I find you lovely like this." Jaskier says, as though confessing a dark secret.

Geralt grouches. "My fingernails are done. Want to file my teeth next, or can we get on with things. "

"Now, now. You said I could do what I want with you." Jaskier says mock archly.

Geralt groans.

"Get comfy on your sleeping mat thing." Jaskier orders, standing up to put away his nail file.

He comes back with various supplies, and no doublet on.

"Shirt off. I'm giving you a massage. And don't rumble on about not needing one." Jaskier says.

"Fine." Geralt says.

Jaskier sits astride Geralt's clothed bottom, and gives his back a light once over on each muscle group, to knock the first layer of tension from Geralt before working up and really getting into the difficult knots. Geralt gives a groan of pain-pleasure as Jaskier really leans into a stubborn one, releasing it finally. Then he gives a final light touch, soothing.

Jaskier bucks up, kneeling, to give Geralt space and says "roll over."

"This is more like it." Geralt grunts, putting his hands on Jaskier’s hips as he sits back down, on his crotch now. 

Jaskier tuts as he grabs more oil. "Still not sexy time yet. Behave."

Geralt hums, non committal, and grinds Jaskier against his erection. 

“You call me me incorrigible.” Jaskier teases. He repeats the process of exploratory massage and knot removal on the front.

"Geralt, you really do have great tits." Jaskier says brightly.

Geralt makes a grunt of distaste. 

"Don't be like that. This chestular region of yours, the..,” Jaskier touches the skin in question gently, tracing its outline. “The pectoralis major’s costal attachment out to the deltopectoral line is so neatly shaped, and there's such nice depth. they ..." Jaskier sees Geralt's look. "what? I told you I wanted to cherish you. And I’ll praise with physiognomy terms if I must."

"As you say.” Geralt says, unbelieving. 

"If any of this is a surprise to you, you haven't understood me very well at all." Jaskier shakes his head. 

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

"The people I love inspire many things in me. True, often it's highly energetic sex. But it depends on the person." His eyebrow raises.

"So I inspire massage. " Geralt rumbles sarcastically. Jaskier wipes off the excess of oil and finishes the massage.

"You inspire tenderness, yes, and ballads, and love songs, and so much in me. Including the desire to debauch you thoroughly until you can’t remember your own name. Until I’ve taken virginities you didn’t know you still possessed, and corrupted you so much to pleasure that I become as a god for your ecstatic worship." Jaskier says, as though you can just say those things. 

He bends down towards Geralt’s gaze. “So thank you, for letting me do as I wish.” He kisses the tip of Geralt’s nose. “Are you ready for me to make love to you now?” He asks softly, looking into Geralt’s eyes from so close. 

Geralt’s answering “yes” is more a whine of wanting than anything.

Jaskier starts to tease Geralt with his touch, takes time over the nipples, laving them, thumbing them into stiffness. Geralt in return touches every part of Jaskier he can reach, from his slender waist down over his bottom, pulled tight against his pants. And up the softly muscled back, smooth to Geralt’s roughness. He holds Jaskier’s face, until he kisses Geralt’s fingers, and just to shock him, bites gently at the side of his hand, as though hoping Geralt was his next meal, Geralt's throat strangles his moan of desire.

“I love hearing your voice catch like that. I know you’re stifling such sweet little noises when you do that.” Jaskier rumbles with desire, pushing his face into the bite mark he just made..

“It makes my heart burn to know that I make you shy. Big scary formidable you. Shy of little me.” He sighs in delight.

“You’re not little.” Geralt says.

“Trying to compliment little Jaskier, are you?” Jaskier wiggles his hips.

Geralt coughs out a little laugh, despite himself. Jaskier grins, in triumph.

“No, I’m not small. But compared to you I do feel quite delicate and weak sometimes. It doesn't bother me. In fact, I kind of like it.” He says, and stands. He performs a little strip tease of his own Geralt-loosened breeches right above Geralt, then fairly rips Geralt’s pants half way downwards, leaving him bound together by the leather and cloth around his knees. 

Then Jaskier uses his chemise to really make a tease of it, with little firelit glimpses of his rosy erection and beautifully muscled bottom peeking out as he shifts and stretches in various ways, finally reaching up over his head, revealing his gorgeous glory trail all the way to his navel, the softness of his belly stretched tight over his abs, inviting touch, his cock bobbing up towards it lazily. 

Geralt makes a sound of want, and Jaskier replies with a mischevious smile. He rips Geralt's pants the rest of the way down, then scoops his chemise off over his head in a single practiced movement, confident and content in the firelight.

Jaskier straddles him then, and wriggles into place to line their erections up against one another. "That's better." He murmurs, and grabs a blanket to cover them both in an intimate cocoon of warmth, then he hooks his ankles up over Geralt’s shins, almost twining their legs together. 

"Join me." Jaskier says simply.

He clasps Geralt's right hand in both his own, oiling it up a little. Then he pulls it up, to kiss like a Lady's, before pressing their hands down into their laps, making sure their twin erections push up through their handhold. Geralt gasps at the sensation, oddly intimate in their shared grip.

Jaskier leans forward, covering Geralt’s chest with his own, shifting grip so that Geralt holds the base, and Jaskier holds their tips, the pad of his thumb brushing over both of their arousals, causing them to throb in response to each other's movements. This sets up a feedback loop of sensation as one sets off the other. 

"Oh that's good." Jaskier murmurs.

Jaskier presses their left cheeks together, and now Geralt is surrounded by him, every sense filled with the sweet intimacies of Jaskier making love to him. Jaskier begins to whisper sweet words into his ear. Geralt was expecting filthy lewd remarks, but it’s not. It’s like Jaskier is confessing the sweetest secrets in his heart. And after the vulnerability Geralt’s been feeling all day, it swamps him. 

"The way you love me is so beautiful, like a vine climbing to the sun. so tentative at first, then so strong in its bindings."  
"The way you smile at me sometimes, that one tooth catching your lip? makes you look so care free. And I feel so loved, that this smile is for me."

"I love how you reach out to touch me now. A little hesitantly, but then your whole body reacts to it, like I'm an amulet of happiness."

On and on, Jaskier lets these breathless adorations spill from him. 

Geralt's eyes, at first shut against these soft statements, as though that would shut his ears too, fly open in search of something solid to hold onto, and there's nothing above him but the depthless infinite of the starry sky, huge, distant and limitless. Like a maw he might tumble into if Jaskier wasn't holding him to the ground, to be forever lost, much like the sparks of the fire flying up beside him.

So he holds Jaskier even tighter, moves them faster, trying to run towards the pleasure they’re both chasing. It doesn’t stop the ache in his heart, though. It somehow intensifies it, plays off against it until..

Jaskier pulls back for a moment to look into Geralt's eyes, to softly check in on him. 

Overcome by impulse as he looks back in wonder, Geralt whispers "I love you." Before a kick of pleasure whips his back into an arch, eyes fluttering shut.

Geralt's orgasm is almost agonised, as though torn from him unwillingly, punctuated by gasps and whimpers of pleasure. Jaskier follows shortly after, his own wail of pleasure catching in his throat and coming out as more of a keen.

"Oh, my beloved, you are a wonder." Jaskier says, pressing kisses into Geralt's chest, leaving him space to pant unhindered, and gather himself again. 

Geralt runs a hand over his face, as though trying to wipe away the strange tension and energy that came over him.

Jaskier cleans him up conscientiously as his breath and thoughts slowly return to him. 

"Here we go." He mutters quietly and he carefully wipes Geralt dry again, then places a little kiss on his hip, as though in reassurance, or just simple fondness.

Jaskier snuggles in under the blanket and rests on Geralt's chest happily. 

"Why do people leave you?" Geralt muses, nuzzling into Jaskier's hair to scent him.

Jaskier makes a little noise of wounded disbelief. "Well, there goes my afterglow." He complains, then before Geralt can muster an apology or explanation, continues with a little kiss. "Oh, I know, I know, it's one of your patented backhanded compliments. Thank you." He says, in jest.

"One of the frequent reasons is that they were never mine to have in the first place." Jaskier says, remembering. "Whether I'll be able to keep someone rarely factors into whether I pursue them." He muses.

"How do you love so easily when there's so much to lose each time?" Geralt asks.

"Partly I truly don't think that far ahead, at all." Jaskier says honestly.

"That's obvious. " Geralt says, and Jaskier pokes his ribs in retribution. 

"Partly practice. Nothing stops you dwelling on old love like new love. And my job relies on me fuelling songwriting with heartbreak. So it's sort of a specialty area for me, getting over a break-up." Jaskier admits somewhat sadly.

"I... can't do that." Geralt says with conviction. 

"I know, every single love is indelible on your heart. So I'm honoured to be in there. Tucked away safe somewhere secret." Jaskier taps a finger over Geralts big, slow heart. “It makes me want to be so gentle with you.” He whispers. 

Geralt shivers, and holds Jaskier. “You can’t.. How do you just say that... all of that?”

Jaskier shrugs. “I trust you. And I love you.”

“And you call me the wonder.” Geralt says wryly.

“I do. And I will again.” Jaskier says. “Brace yourself.”

Geralt huffs out a laugh, and then stretches like a cat, a delicious feeling of relaxation finally coming over him.

“Ahhh. See, now you’re relaxed.” Jaskier says, satisfied. “Good night, my beloved. Sleep well.”

“Hmmm.” Geralt says, the purr of it trailing off into quietitude. His arms full of Jaskier, and his head full of nothing but the stars. His eyes drift closed, his mouth curled gently upwards in contentment.


	20. Domestic drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuteness from armour shopping that I skipped earlier.
> 
> NB: There are comments on here that are lovely, but I just have failed to answer, because my brain is a mess. But I thank you. The lovely comments are truly appreciated, despite my failure to know what to do with them.

"Stop squirming." Geralt says evenly, looking Jaskier straight in the eye. 

Jaskier whines unhappily and continues wriggling. “It’s too tight, it doesn’t fit.” He says.

“If you stopped squirming, I wouldn’t have slipped.” Geralt says, annoyed. “Stay. still.”

Jaskier braces himself, and pulls a pained face. Geralt adjusts the straps, loosing some, tightening others. Satisfied, he steps back, grabs the cap, and plops it on Jaskier’s head.

“Done” Geralt says, satisfied.

The training outfit is a scuffed quilted jerkin and a pair of heavy long leather gloves, topped off with a simple stiffened leather cap with flaps extending over his neck and sideburns area, buckled in place.

“I look like an idiot.” Jaskier pouts, holding his unweildy hands up for his own inspection.

“A living idiot, just the way I like you.” Geralt says fondly.

Jaskier’s mouth curls half in chagrin, half in happiness. “Yeah well, I should have guessed you’d have no eye for aesthetics.”

“If you are anywhere near me when there’s danger around, your last thought should be about fashion.” Geralt says.

“My last thought will be I died looking like a twat.” Jaskier grumbles.

“The point is to not have a last thought.” Geralt says. “The other advantage of this is that since you look like a complete idiot, bandits will dismiss you as the lesser threat. Which is ideal for me when I have to protect your unlucky arse.” 

Jaskier concedes the point with an ingracious snort.

“This will be stifling in Summer. I’ll sweat through it, it’s barbaric.” Jaskier protests.

“Then buy more undershifts.” Geralt says. “You can pick pretty colours.”

“That doesn’t mollify me.” Jaskier narrows his eyes.

“I warned you at the start that you’re going to wear the armour I tell you to.” Geralt says calmly.

“What, no sex without protection, is that it?” Jaskier cocks his head to one side.

Geralt makes a displeased grunt. Jaskier smirks.

“I love the sounds you make when I’m annoyingly apt.” Jaskier says.

"Lets give this armour a test." Geralt says.

"What do you mean?" Jaskier asks uncertainly as Geralt hefts a solid wooden training sword speculatively.

"No! No you can't beat me with sticks just because I've got armour on!" Jaskier says, outraged, once he figures it out.

"I can, and I will. This is an important training exercise. You need to stop fearing the sword, so you can focus on what I'm teaching you." Geralt explains.

"Treating me as a training dummy cannot legitimately be a sword fighting lesson." Jaskier says in disbelief.

"No, not for nobles. Witchers though." Geralt shrugs and lets Jaskier come to his own conclusions.

Jaskier's mouth twists. "Fine. But you have to stop when I cry uncle. I'm a bard, not a beast."

Geralt nods appreciatively, then strikes Jaskier across the arse almost contemplatively.

"Ow! Hey!" That's not armour!" Jaskier complains.

"I know. That was for fun." Geralt smirks.

"You!" Jaskier says, his annoyance melting into amusement when he sees Geralt's smile widen. "Ok, come on then."


	21. Journey to Kaer Morhen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> discussions of Witchers not falling in love, roadside head.
> 
> Ps: when I started this fic, it was a vignette cast adrift in the canon at an unspecified time. I'm honestly unsure where to place it now that I'm extending it to more characters, etc. Any hints? I'm happy to have elements of any media. Though I can't say I've played the games. (Ps, how much sex does Geralt get in the books? Him and Yennefer mope over each other's sex lives a lot for people who have varied and spicy ones themselves. Geralt you're being Lord Byron to Ciri's Ada.)

It’s quiet, except for the wind through the trees, and the steady clop of hooves on dirt. The glare of a clouded sky paints the air full of edges.

Jaskier has his own little gelding to trot along by Roach, as Jaskier sometimes does, when he is in the mood, and in good coin. Something about riding a castrated horse as quickly as he could away from a township that wanted to castrate him somehow tickled his sense of humour. 

There isn't much haste today though. Just determination. There's ice in the air. Winter is arriving, and quickly. No singing with air this cold. And especially no plucking at tense lute strings with freezing fingers. His cloak was more pretty than warm, though he swore that wasn’t why he chose it.

“Geralt, I am too delicate a flower for this clime. I am made for Spring warmth and sunshine. If my hands get any colder, they’ll fall off. My poor precious magnificent hands, Geralt.” Jaskier complains.

Geralt continues looking around the landscape, assessing it, seemingly unmoved by Jaskier’s speech.

“Geralt, are you listening to me? If you don’t let us stop and warm up, you’ll be responsible for depriving the world of my talent! Furthermore, no hand jobs for you, ever again.” He declares imperiously.

Geralt just looks at the ground, picks up a rock he’s satisfied with. “If your hands really get cold that easily, I don’t want one anyway.” He teases in a straight faced rumble.

“You! You are terrible!” Jaskier squarks in protest.

“Come here. Hold this.” Geralt says, a quiet Igni heating the rock he’s tossing in his hand.

“Oh, your magic hot rock magic, stuff, thing. Yes! Thank you,” Jaskier fairly sings in praise of this development and guides Trotsky over to accept it.

“Give give give. Ooooh. I take it back, you are a treasure,” Jaskier says as the cloth wrapped rock steadily burns the chill out of his fingers through his just slightly too thin gloves.

Jaskier is right, he should be far away from this type of late autumn mountain chill, cocooned in the safe warm city of Oxenfurt by now, by his own preference. But not this year.

There was war brewing, again, and though little actual warfare would happen during winter, Geralt felt much happier keeping Jaskier with him, in safety, not out in unknown conditions and travelling through unknown places, depending on where the winter closed in on him, what roads were open, or not.

Jaskier had grumbled at first, but settled into the idea. After all, few were the humans that got to travel to Kaer Morhen. It is a legendary place in more than one sense. 

At least few were the living beings that had seen inside it. Back before the pogroms, supplies and services were provided regularly by outsiders. Not every chore was easily done by trainee Witchers, after all. But that is not in living human memory. No human being was trusted there now. Nor likely ever again. Hopefully Jaskier will be an acceptable exception.

If Geralt can't even protect Jaskier within its walls, then what is the point of it anymore? If he loses Jaskier because he sent him off alone now, how could he forgive himself, or his brothers, for that matter.

Surely his brothers and Vesemir will understand. There's no time to send and receive notes to confirm. Winter has come. It’s not like Vesemir won’t have a day or more of warning when he sees Geralt with an out rider beside him, plodding up the mountain track.  
He’ll probably even know who it is just from how Geralt has described him over the years. 

On the other hand, how are they going to react to Jaskier and his current relationship? It’s weighing on him. He’s not sure whether to come clean immediately, and ask them to be forgiving of his connection, they all know Witchers aren’t supposed to fall in love, but life is long and the Path unending. Or just to leave everything unsaid, and hope no-one has the courage to bring it up with him.

He’s inclined to try the latter. But then again, Jaskier’s insistence on talking about their relationship so much seems to be why it’s working out so well so far. Either that or their long standing familiarity with one another. Maybe both.

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupts his thinking. “I’m getting the feeling you’re worried about me meeting other Witchers.”

Geralt blinks in surprise, then agrees with a contemplative hum.

“Is there something I should know?” 

Geralt contemplates spilling all his thoughts, but opts instead for. “In what capacity?” 

"Are you worried simply because I'm a human in the Wolves’ Hold thing, or is it a Witchers don't fall in love thing? Or, Melitele forfend, a bards fall in love too easily thing?" Jaskier elaborates.

"Falling in love on the Path is forbidden," Geralt replies heavily.

“Yeah, a bit late for that... I can hide our whole sex thing for the winter, if you want? It wouldn’t be the first time I endured a solo season. I’ll really miss hugging you though, especially considering the cold.” Jaskier muses.

“I don’t know if I want us to hide. I don't know if we could hide it anyway," Geralt admits. 

“No offense Geralt, if they’re like you with feelings, they won’t have any idea.” Jaskier reassures him.

“We smell like each other’s cum and sweat. We’d have to scrub everything to remove it.” Geralt explains.

“Oh.. Wow," Jaskier says, smelling himself reflexively. "Can we scrub everything anyway? I may be a complete wastrel, but that’s not how I want to greet your family, no matter how I introduce myself.”

Geralt shrugs. “No matter what happens, I won't regret bringing you here. Keeping you safe means too much."

"You make it sound like Kaer Morhen is one of the less understanding kingdoms where they clap you in irons for our type of love. Surely Witchers don’t harbour that sort of prejudice?" Jaskier asks.

"It's not that," Geralt replies firmly.

“Good,” Jaskier says, and thinks for a moment. "Then it's because they think I make you weak. A distraction, from the Path, and from the fight in front of you."

"Yes," Geralt says simply.

"Then bollocks to that,” Jaskier loudly tells the mountainside. “Between my songs and my first aid, I definitely leave you ahead in those stakes, not behind. Any way. I might not be Witcher material, but I can run from danger with the best of them. I could be a worse distraction."

Geralt doesn’t have an answer for that, just a contemplative nod of the head. After a few minutes of this, Jaskier smirks to himself, believing he’s found the solution.

"You know what? By being my loud, accident-prone self, I have accidentally trained you not to be distracted by me in a large variety of situations. I bet I can prove to them that I’m no harm to you,” he beams.

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t.” Geralt says definitely. 

“You know me so well.” Jaskier smiles in sweet mischief, and just looks at Geralt.

After a long moment looking at one another, Geralt hmms, realising that Jaskier isn’t going to either change or divulge his plans. 

Geralt pulls them off the trail then, before the afternoon comes too close to night. Darkness falls quickly in the mountains.

Not far into the forest is their campsite for the night. A small hollow space under an escarpment. Not even a real cave. But enough to keep out wind and rain. Enough to be safe from creatures in the night. There is an old firepit there, soot staining the rocks black.

It didn’t take long to set up camp. The routine is so familiar to both by now.

As she always did when somewhere unfamiliar, Roach slept standing, in the edge of the firelight, legs locked, covered in her blanket, belly fed with a handful of oats. Trotsky did much the same beside her, close enough to share warmth.

After their plain but agreeably hot dinner, Jaskier snuggles into Geralt to try to get properly warm. 

“I’m so lucky to have such a capable, durable lover.” He murmurs happily.

“Durable? What, you want to treat me rough? Or you want me to see how long I can do it, how many times I can come?” Geralt asks, wondering what kink Jaskier has up his sleeve.

Jaskier pops his head up in surprise to look at Geralt. “Yes--wait, no! ...Unless it turns you on. I mean the multiple orgasm thing sounds good.” He says, mind on a completely new track for a moment.

Geralt smiles a tiny wicked smile. 

“I just meant I’m lucky to have such strong arms to feel safe in.” Jaskier explains. “I was trying to be sweet.”

Jaskier continues. “Speaking of sexual feats though, I’m not pushing you into doing more than you prefer, am I? You’re not pushing yourself to keep up with me, or anything?”

“No.” Geralt says solidly.

“Because you’re right, your body is capable of extraordinary things, so don’t push yourself to perform on my account. This isn’t a competition or anything. And you should know by now that you don’t have to keep me entertained to keep me interested in you.”Jaskier implores. 

Geralt has turned out to be a rather enthusiastic lover of late. Much more than his infrequent brothel visits would suggest. So Jaskier’s questioning isn’t entirely out of left field.

“I know you’re not that shallow. I have so much of you because you’re so good to have,” Geralt admits. 

“Really? Even if I’m not your usual type?” Jaskier asks. 

“My usual type be damned. You’re enthusiastic, and you care for me,” Geralt states flatly, kicking an errant ember back into the fire where it belongs. 

“Enthusiastic?” Jaskier complains. “You make me sound like a puppy humping your leg.”

“I mean you desire me wholeheartedly. Your smell, mannerisms, words, sounds. All of it is unrelenting desire for me. No hesitation, no jaded resignation, and never fear. It feels so good just for that. But on top of that, you know your arse from your elbow.” Geralt understates humorously.

“You mean I’m a superlative lover,” Jaskier boasts easily, smiling.

“You’re fine,” Geralt counters.

“C’mon, stroke my ego a little, it’s not like you’ll be stroking anything else in this weather.” Jaskier huddles in even closer against the black wall of night beyond their fire.

Geralt indulges him with a little smile. “You’re good. Surprisingly good.”

“Thank you. I’ll take it,” Jaskier replies, craning back to look into Geralt's eyes, then tucks himself back in. 

Geralt continues. “And you do care for me. Maintaining your reputation and ego aside, I know you want to please me so avidly because you care for me. You can’t know how that feels to be on the receiving end of.”

“I can’t?” Jaskier asks, more curious than chastising.

“Have you ever been turned away at a brothel, and drunk yourself to sleep next to your horse instead, because you were that lonely?” Geralt asks rhetorically. 

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier says in a small voice.

“No. No pity. Just one of those things about me I’m never sure if you actually see, because you’re too busy painting rosy pictures in your songs. But my insistence on solitude is also a handy foil against rejection. And until you set about changing it on multiple fronts, my solitude was unrelenting for almost a decade.” At least outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, he thinks to himself. “You’re like a new breath of life.”

“No pity. But I don’t ever want you to sleep alone so long as I’m within ten miles of you. Never again. Come pull me from someone else’s bed if you have to. I’ll forgive you as soon as I’m in your arms,” Jaskier promises, determined. 

“I doubt it. And that seems drastic,” Geralt says evenly.

“You make me want to be drastic,” Jaskier says, over pronouncing drastic for emphasis. Then nuzzles him.

“As grand romantic gestures go, it’s more practical than most.” Geralt rumbles happily.

“Good,” Jaskier says. "I like being a good match for your practical romanticism."

“Romanticism.” Geralt cocks a disbelieving eye. 

“Oh, very much so. Don’t talk to me like I haven’t seen your shy and wistful desires before. Your heart has about a hundred layers of armour just because you’re such a big softie. But it leaks out still in unexpected ways. Seriously, do you listen to my songs?” Jaskier asks animatedly.

“I do, but I never know which parts are sincere.” Geralt complains. 

“You... I... Fine. Especially my early works. Not so much of the factual. But the sentiment, that's always true, that's what inspires me, at the core. I’m perfectly aware that you’re big and tough and scary. I’m also aware that you’re soft and lonely and downright maudlin when the mood takes you.”

“I have reason,” Geralt says defensively.

“I know. Oh how I know, beloved. Why do you think I just want to smother you in gentleness sometimes?” Jaskier says, hand petting at Geralt’s chest.

“If that's true, then what do you have to say about also smothering me in sex?" Geralt pokes him literally as well as figuratively, barely felt through the layers of clothing.

“You’re sexy as fuck,” Jaskier says in indignation. Like he could possibly be pity-fucking Geralt of Rivia.

"Is that why you're hard right now?" Geralt teases. 

"You... A man has no privacy around you sometimes," Jaskier pouts. “ You can’t talk about intensive sex to explore the limits of your ability to come for me and not expect a reaction.”

"How about my mouth gives you a little relief, then? Should be warm enough, despite everything." Geralt says contemplatively, and Jaskier makes an embarrassing groan.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jaskier asks. "It's going to be very awkward."

"Yes," Geralt rumbles, nosing at Jaskier enthusiastically. Jaskier rather turns to putty in his arms at this. Geralt reorganises blankets and clothing with methodical efficiency and in short order has Jaskier bare to the air, and ready to be sucked without giving him a drafty chill, somehow. Little Jaskier has no time to run and hide from the cold as Geralt immediately has him not only in hand, but in mouth as well.

"Oh dear Gods of all creation!" Jaskier cries out, shocked by the sudden heat and pressure of Geralt’s mouth on his cock.

"Sweet mother of... aaaah." Jaskier fails again to complete a statement, head lolling as Geralt makes an interesting manoeuvre with his tongue. Roach rumbles in annoyance at the disturbance as Jaskier’s cries of desire thoroughly wake her, and Trotsky just stamps as he resettles himself.

"Geralt... How?" Jaskier pants out in disbelief between shocks of rather incredible pleasure.

Geralt pauses and stares up at him. Jaskier peers back down at him over the folds of his winter coat. 

"How are you so good? Is this my influence?" Jaskier asks, voice still an octave higher as he blinks hard to keep his mind straight.

Geralt hmms in agreement, and gets back to it, simply to avoid any further embarrassing conversation about his technique.

"Hhuuh... You can't... Uuuuh... Mm ...k, you can... Fuck," Jaskier gives up trying to converse and just braces himself for the unexpected pleasure of it. 

There's nothing but the sounds of Jaskier's breathless desire and disjointed cursing, and the fire popping, for some time. Geralt using every technique he could muster, one hand steadying Jaskier’s hip, the other doing a variety of interesting things that Jaskier wasn’t sure whether he actually enjoyed or was just surprised by enough to be shocked into pleasure from.

"Geral-- Geralt! I’m gonna... Do you-- mmiiah... Can I?” Jaskier tries to articulate his impending orgasm, largely in vain.

Geralt hums in agreement, and doesn’t let Jaskier even a millimeter out of his mouth as his peak hits him. His cock pulses repeatedly into that unrelenting heat and Geralt swallows his spend flawlessly, then keeps Jaskier warm in his mouth without further stimulation as he calms a little. 

Jaskier pants, his sweat almost freezing on his skin already. His cock still feels like it’s throbbing from the intense sensation and suction it was just subjected to. Geralt tucks him away safe and warm once more and he sighs in relaxation. 

Jaskier feels a little like a package of honey that has been rewrapped after someone’s taken a bite out of the comb. Somehow secretly sullied by Geralt’s mouth like he’s been sampled and claimed in a way no-one will discover until he’s unwrapped again. 

"What was it I can or can’t do?” Geralt asks once Jaskier has taken a drink of water to centre himself again.

“What? Oh. Be that good... How did you make simple roadside head into something so deeply debauched?” Jaskier asks, curling up against Geralt languidly.

Geralt “hmms,” in distaste at Jaskier’s choice of words.

“I wondered for a moment if you were an incubus who’d somehow tricked me into thinking he was you, in order to suck my soul out through my dick. Wasn’t sure if I should yell for help or just thank you for making my last moments so good.” Jaskier continues.

“How do we get to the place where all your fancy words get knocked out instead of implausible filth?” Geralt complains jokingly.

“I have no fucking idea. Maybe that’s what you sucked out. Give it back.” Jaskier says playfully and enthusiastically tries to kiss the taste of himself back out of Geralt, and Geralt is more than pleased to oblige with enthusiastic kissing in return. When they part, Jaskier’s eyes are half-lidded from sleep rather than desire.

“Geralt.. I think I’m fucking knackered. I can’t figure out how to repay you for... that... adequately.” Jaskier gestures vaguely to himself and Geralt’s mouth.

“I’m fine. Just wanted to be intimate for a little while before we had to be covered in furs for the night. I’ll keep.” Geralt reassures him, honestly glad to keep a little sexual tension under his belt to keep himself aware through the hunting hours of the night.

Jaskier makes happy little sounds of contentment as he snuggles in. “I was right. Being at the centre of your sex life is a good thing. You’re a good thing. So good to me.” Jaskier murmurs, eyes closed, as he curls up on Geralt’s chest to sleep.

“Good night, beloved.” Geralt whispers into his ear, and tucks the fur up higher to protect Jaskier from the cold.

Jaskier is too sleep-addled to answer, and just lets himself drift off, feeling far too warm, safe, and sated for someone in a cave halfway up a mountain on the path to Kaer Morhen.

The staring stars give not the slightest care for this cosy little tableaux, carved from the chill by Geralt’s hard work. But then, they never did. It was up to him to cherish it, and so he did.


	22. To the Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day of travel

The ground is dusted in white when they awake, snowfall blowing down on them unheeded in the dark. 

Geralt wakes from a somewhat uncomfortable and cold sleep. Jaskier is the warm, soft exception to this, still curled into his side like an oversized kitten. 

Geralt can't help but rouse him with a whiskery nuzzle and a kiss on the forehead. Jaskier’s waking face does the most adorable twist of confusion as he claws his way towards consciousness. 

"Morn’n, Geralt. God it's cold." He complains, hissing through clenched teeth.

"We’ll reach Kaer Morhen today. You can laze around by the fire once we get there." Geralt soothes.

"Good, because my legs already feel like they want to fall off after yesterday. " Jaskier says, stretching them out gingerly.

"It’s the slope. You use different muscles.” Geralt says, not suffering in the slightest, the soreness coming and going within a span of a night for his own mutated body. 

“I refuse to move without a hot breakfast,” Jaskier declares.

“Then make yourself one. I need to tend to the horses,” Geralt says. 

They set off not too much later, the slope evening out after a few hours on the track. Geralt finds the small gap that continues their path towards the keep, well hidden. Through it, they’re into the final pass before the castle’s surrounds. 

They emerge onto a rather fraught track. The views of the ragged mountain range and valley below is truly breathtaking. Erratically dusted in the blowing snow, piled against otherwise unseen obstacles. 

Geralt leads them across it.

The griffin chooses that fraught crossing as the time to attack them, hoping to make off with one of their horses as an easy meal, most likely. Everything happens at once. It's swoop is noticed, and thwarted by Geralt, who instinctively shields Jaskier, and deters the griffin with a sloppy but effective Aard, knocking it off course. 

Geralt casts Axii on Roach and Trotsky in rapid succession as they start in fear. Jaskier practically dives out of sight behind them with a “gaaaah!” of terror. 

"Hold them." Geralt commands Jaskier, handing over the reins.

Geralt runs off ahead by himself, giving himself space and making himself into the easy target, downing a potion as he goes.

The griffin comes around again and grabs at Geralt, snagging an arm and pulling hard, Geralt digging his feet in, in order not to be pulled off the path and into the ravine. Then he manages to get a glancing blow in, drawing blood and a screech of pain from the animal. It releases him, wheels down and away, catching an updraught and wheels back for another attempt, this time from on the ground.

As the Axii begins to wear off, Jaskier tries to convince the horses not to rear up in fear or knock one another off the track. It's a battle he's going to lose.

The fight needs to end quickly, Geralt knows. 

A burst of Igni flies through the air towards the griffin. It shies. A second burst singes it a little, and it scrambles back in fear from the flames. Witchers turn out to be a lot more dangerous than it is used to for such a small creature.

The griffin is scared off with a final screech, deciding that Witcher’s horse was too pricey a meal for its tastes after all.

“Will it be back?” Jaskier asks fearfully. 

“Unlikely." Geralt says, staring after its retreat. "It’s the start of winter. It’s not starving in the howling ice wastes, it was just hoping for an easy meal.” Geralt says, spotting the griffin still doggedly winging its way back to wherever it came from. “Mustn’t have met a Witcher before. Probably a youngling out on its first winter alone.”

"Are you ok?" Geralt asks, having confirmed their safety.

"Just ruffled." Jaskier looks Geralt over in turn. “Look at you, you poor thing. You have such a case of scary face.” He brushes the greyish pallor of Geralt’s face with the backs of his knuckles.

“It’s fine.” Geralt says, glad there’s no visible blood on him to provoke Jaskier’s over-protective instincts. 

“I want to kiss you better so badly, but I’d probably just poison myself.” Jaskier says, with a wistful little smile. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Why not?” Geralt huffs out a little laugh, smiling despite himself. “Let’s just get past this exposed ridge first.”

A little more Axii convinces both horses that they definitely want to go forwards now the danger is gone, and soon they’re making a pit stop in a small clearing.

Geralt lets Jaskier build the fire while he gets the tea leaves and kit.

Shielded from view by Trotsky's flank, he moves his shoulder gingerly through its range of motion while Jaskier isn’t looking. There was definitely something injured in there somewhere, pain and swelling starting to make themselves known now that the danger has passed.

Geralt looks up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen, brow furrowed, face grim. Wondering whether that little skirmish was witnessed by Vesemir, or one of his brothers. It would take some explaining.

“Geralt, is there any more exciting wildlife I should know about?” Jaskier calls, sitting back

“Unlikely,” Geralt grunts.

“So... this current worry is that maybe the one human you like, and the three Witchers in the world who truly understand and care for you won’t get on?” Jaskier asks, making sure he understands what the grim look is all about.

“Yes. And I know that there’s little I can do to control it,” Geralt admits, lowly.   
“Are you worried about meeting them?” he asks, curious.

“Not really. It may only be by virtue of being daft, but I have an absolutely clear conscience of being a monster of any sort. So, Witchers don’t scare me in that way. And I’m charming.” He shrugs. “Even if they don’t like me at first, I’ll win them over somehow. I won you over.”

“What about our forbidden love? That puts a damper on their opinion,” Geralt quips dryly.

Jaskier shrugs. “Despite my attempt at cleaning, apparently they’ll probably know we’re .. intimate. However, just because I give you comfort on the road doesn’t mean we’re, you know. Close-close, like that, necessarily. They don’t need to know everything. Introduce me as a friend. If it means that much to them, they’ll ask.”

Geralt looks dubious.

Jaskier loses patience. “Fuck ‘em. They don’t own you. And they’re not going to kick me out in the snow. Worst comes to worst, I’ll hole up in the library or something, and drink brandy to while away the winter safe and warm, just as you wanted. I don’t have to rub my love for you in their faces, I only really want to rub it in yours. So why are you so worried?” 

“Lambert won’t leave it. Won't leave you alone.” Geralt says with certainty. 

“What's he going to do to me?" Jaskier asks, worried, since Geralt is.

"Hard to tell. He can get out of hand when he's really annoyed." Geralt says, worrying at his chapped lips.

"You have a talent for being ominous, do you know that?" Jaskier says, handing Geralt his cup of tea.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, gesturing thanks for his tea, too.

It’s not long after that when they begin to overlap the loops of The Killer. Geralt relaxes a little in one way, there won’t be any monsters. He tenses in another way. He’s pretty sure he just caught a whiff of the bombs Lambert favours for monster hunting. So, he’s here already.

The blackened and forbidding walls loom before them as they pop out from between trees into a clearing.

"A burnt offering on the altar of humanity’s cruelty," Jaskier says of the crumbling edifice, rather stunned by the solid looming presence of Kaer Morhen’s ruination.

"More so than any but a handful of sights my mind cares to recall," Geralt agrees poetically. 

"What do we do for water?” Jaskier asks, mind turning to practical matters. “Don't tell me we have to haul it from down in that creek we passed?” Jaskier asks, dreading a dire walk in the cold for a bath of any sort.

"There's a spring." Geralt answers shortly.

"Hot springs?" Jaskier perks up.

"No, the area isn't that volcanic, besides which that would taint the water." Geralt replies, trying to reason with Jaskier’s fantasies of keep lifestyle.

"Ah. A pity, even so. ” Jaskier wilts a little. A hot soak would be so welcome after such a hard trek. Oh well, at least he’d be warm soon.

"A keep of Witchers has no need of fires to heat our baths." Geralt explains, patiently.

"Oh, yes. Right, I see. Good. I shall be expecting you to cover my share of baths with your wiggly finger magic too then."  
Jaskier demands. "Not all of us are so blessed.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say you don’t have magic fingers,” Geralt smirks.

“I’ve corrupted you. Alas and huzzah!” Jaskier exalts, hand on heart.

Geralt smiles, face turned to the road.

“Oh dear sweet Melitele. Oh Fuck.. “ Jaskier says, mouth hanging open as he realises the ‘rocks’ they’re passing over are in fact skulls.

"From the sacking." Geralt says, in a detached manner.

“That’s the skull of a child, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers, catching the eerie sight of adult teeth that never grew in.

“Yes. A boy who never got the chance to die at the hands of his ‘protectors’ because he died first at the hands of invaders,” Geralt says cynically, of a sight he’s pondered each year since the sacking. More so, since creating a Child Surprise.

“You do always say there’s nothing clean and bright in the life of a Witcher,” Jaskier says, hollowly. “I just never.. Pictured this fully, I guess.” 

“It was all before you were born,” Geralt says, trying to soothe Jaskier’s obvious horror.

“That doesn’t mean it’s gone. The past is never gone, not really” Jaskier says, eyes shining with shadowed thoughts. 

Geralt’s heart aches. The bard’s empathy breaking through the callouses he built over this tragedy, making it fresh for him too. 

The clop of hooves rings hollow on stone as they cross the last bridge into the keep


	23. Lambert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if I've gotten Jaskier and Lambert’s reaction to one another right.

Geralt looks confident and comfortable as he enters the ruin. 

Jaskier is unnerved by the stillness of the keep, he looks around desperately for signs of life. The walls stand like displeased sentinels around him. Disapproving of his arrival. He can’t very well argue his case with the ghosts in the walls.

A dark shape looms out of the Gatehouse, a man only a little taller than himself, and yet somehow a lot scarier than Geralt. There’s a feral gleam to this Witcher’s eyes as he swaggers toward them both.

“Geralt.” the new witcher says simply, clapping Geralt on the back in a muscular hug. "What's this nonsense?" He asks, looking at Jaskier. 

“Lambert.” Geralt returns, looking level and serious in a way Jaskier knew meant he was wary.

Lambert steps away from Geralt, staring down Jaskier instead, trying his best to intimidate the bard. It works. "What are you?"

"Surviving. Mostly. You know?" Jaskier replies, lightly, doing his level best not to show his fear. "Jaskier, bard."

“So Geralt brought his pet nightingale home,” Lambert says cockily. Looking at him from every side, rather too bluntly for comfort.

“Oh, I like Nightingale. Because of my beautiful song?” Jaskier asks brightly, ignoring 'pet' and the scrutiny. 

“No. Because you’re loud and you sing at all times of the day and night like an idiot.” Lambert counters, a nasty grin on his face.

Jaskier cocks his head to the side in feigned relaxation and considers. “You memorise everything Geralt tells you about me? I’m flattered. Or do you just memorise everything your big brother says in general?” Jaskier over enunciates the last remark, in order to ensure each syllable is weighted in full, returning Lambert’s insulting serve hard, into deep court.

Lambert’s eyebrow twitches in a dangerous way. Before he can launch into any sort of attack, Geralt steps in front of Jaskier and catches Lambert’s eye.

“Lambert. Behave. He’s a human, not a Witcher. Play nice,” Geralt says firmly. 

"That's right, he's not a Witcher. Why is he here?" Lambert counters with a hiss of displeasure. 

"Actually, Geralt hired me to annoy you. Said something about you being a cocky shit who needs to be taken down a peg before he becomes insufferable." Jaskier says airily, just as Vesemir looms out of the shadows of the Keep towards them, interrupting the antagonism. “Ah, hello.” Jaskier ends rather lamely.

Geralt notices Vesemir arrive, and answers seriously. “It's because there was war between him and safety in Oxenfurt, when winter started to close on us," Geralt explains. "He agreed to come here, to be safe."

"So, a human seeking sanctuary in Kaer Morhen." Vesemir says evenly, looking between Geralt and Jaskier. The former looking somehow chastised, despite lack of audible chastisement. The latter leaning hard into his performance skills to keep nerves at bay.

"Protecting humanity is kind of your whole thing, so I hoped this wasn't too much of a stretch of your hospitality, in the grand scheme of things. Julian Alfred Pankratz, also Jaskier the bard, you might have heard of me." Jaskier sketches a little half bow with a smile, in deference to Kaer Morhens keeper.

"Well met." Vesemir says in return, more charmed than dismissive of Jaskier’s wordy greeting. He considers a moment, then says. "Winters are hard here, if you're willing to work, you can stay."

"Of course. Thank you." Jaskier gushes, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "You will not regret this. I will be an affable beacon of light in the long dark nights, and a willing hand to any task." 

"Willing hand... that sounds right. I almost can believe Geralt hired you to annoy me, but if he spent coin on you, it wouldn't be for using your mouth like that." Lambert leers at Jaskier. 

Jaskier narrows his eyes in perceptive focus on Lambert and his reactions. And arches up in haughty contempt. "You're calling me a prostitute? I know that you didn't just insult the... ladies of nightly pleasures by equating them with my work. I may easily find the nerve to sing for crowds of three thousand, and bed beauties of every type under the sun. But I'm in no way brave enough to put my mouth on you." Jaskier looks Lambert up and down archly. 

"I'm surprised you're brave enough to enter a keep of Witchers at all." Lambert sneers, looking Jaskier over just as insultingly. 

"Why?” Jaskier arches an eyebrow. “Unless all those songs I've been writing about you Witchers are wrong?" Jaskier then feigns shock.

"Geralt? Lambert here doesn't seem terribly able to protect me. Keeps insinuating that he can't control his animal urges to hurt me for fun like a cat teaching it's kittens to hunt." Jaskier says snarkily, almost feeling the confidence he feigns. He might just have Lambert cornered by his words now, he hopes. 

"Yes, I thought he was better than that too.” Vesemir grumbles. Geralt hmms in solid agreement.

Lambert has the humility to look embarrassed at that. Check mate! Jaskier tries not to show his triumph.

Vesemir smiles at Jaskier and extends a hand, eyes flicking to Lambert momentarily. Jaskier takes it, and Vesemir engulfs his delicate fingers in a firm grip. "You have been good to my boys with your songs. And you've looked after Geralt here as a true friend, from what I’ve heard, and that is rare. It will be our honour to host you for the winter, though I warn you, no one here has a free ride, you'll be cooking, cleaning and hauling firewood with the rest of us." 

"Of course. I hope I may provide some measure of entertainment too. I am rather sought after as a musician." Jaskier pats his lute case somewhat inanely, as Vesemir finally lets his hand go in order to give Geralt a bear hug of welcome at last.

"I would like to hear the songs from the source." Vesemir says contemplatively, after he pulls back. “Geralt, get him settled and then join us on the Western wall. A right bastard of a storm played havoc with it a while ago.”

“Of course.” Geralt replies, and nods Jaskier towards the stables with him.

Lambert looks like he might stay behind to make trouble, but Vesemir says "Lambert, you're still on wall duty." And he leaves with one last hard look.

Once out of ear shot Jaskier asks Geralt very quietly. “Did that go well?" 

Geralt shakes his head in hesitation. "We'll see. Lambert won't accept you yet. Expect hell."

"How much hell?" Jaskier asks nervously. He's aware that he's pissed off a very dangerous man.

"Still not sure. But with Vesemir welcoming you so formally, he's unlikely to go too far, unless you snap his nerve."

"Will do my best to avoid that, then." Jaskier says. 

"I don't like how he's treating you." Geralt says quietly. 

"It's fine. I've been insulted worse and more creatively by you. I'll lick my wounds and recover."

Geralt hmm, looking pained over the situation. 

"I'll do my best to earn his respect. It will get better. This isn’t the whole winter." Jaskier soothes, seeing Geralt’s discomfort. 

"He should be trying to earn yours." Geralt says, holding Jaskier close. 

"You're making me regret the no sex rule." Jaskier jokes. 

Geralt returns outside to the crumbling western wall.

"So, your bard follows you because he likes the taste of your cock, then?" Lambert says.

"Lambert." Vesemir rumbles.  
"You have too much mouth. Run the Killer."

"What? I'm right. They smell like each other." Lambert. 

"Your ears full of the shit falling out of your mouth, hey?" Vesemir rebukes him. "Run it. Now. Until your attitude isn't beneath your dignity any more."

Lambert makes a growling noise of defiance, but he goes.

Geralt and Vesemir look at each other.

“Saw you with the griffin.” Vesemir says, to start the conversation.

Geralt turns to face Vesemir fully and awaits judgement stoically.

"You worked as a team." He says, praising. "Protected him with some stupid heroics though."

"Hmm." Geralt agrees, still wary.

"Got your arm hurt for it." Vesemir observes. 

"I will heal." Geralt says, emphasising the I.

“You love each other." Vesemir says, it's only half a question. 

"Yes." Geralt confirms gravely.

"And you're still on the Path." Vesemir confirms.

"Yes." Geralt says, of course he is. 

Vesemir nods to himself a long moment, then asks. "How's his first aid?" 

"Saved me from being blinded by a Kikimore this year. Worked myself too hard, got sloppy." Geralt admits.

"Don't let it happen again." Vesemir reprimands gravely.

"If I'd listened to him in the first place, probably wouldn't have happened at all. He complained about tired feet and wanted us to rest up in an inn for a day before going." 

"But still followed you on the hunt anyway. I can't tell if he's very smart, or very stupid. " Vesemir muses.

"Neither can I, half the time. His loyalty outshines his intellect either way." Geralt says fondly.

"Your heart chose well. Keep him safe. It seems he's doing the same for you. " Vesemir says.

"Thank you. I will." Geralt says, emphatically. Grateful for Vesemir's blessing.

That appears to be all Vesemir has to say on the topic for now. He nods and says. "West wall won't fix itself."

Geralt frowns, with a hmm of displeasure. 

"It was your own stupid heroics that got you that arm, so you're not excused from work." Vesemir says as he walks away to start dinner.

"Hmm." Geralt smiles to himself. Vesemir definitely wasn't getting soft.


	24. Lambert being a prick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little further run in.

Jaskier was told to make himself comfy by the fire in the kitchen, after all, he's exhausted from the freezing journey up here. But this big empty ruin is giving him the jitters, and he has questions. As soon as he's warm, he goes in search of Geralt on the West wall. 

As he makes to leave the kitchen, Vesemir shows up in the doorway.

"Vesemir. Good.. good. Could you direct me to Geralt. Just have a few... musician questions to ask him."

Vesemir raises an eyebrow at this lame duck of an excuse. But he gives directions anyway.  
"Don't be long. You're still helping me cook."

It doesn't take long for Jaskier to find where he's working. Geralt is moving carefully, Lambert nowhere in sight.

“Where’s the asshole?” Jaskier asks.

“Running the Killer.” Geralt says tightly.

“You’re injured.” Jaskier realises as he watches the way Geralt moves and talks. 

“I’m fine.” Geralt says grumpily.

"You're a shit liar, Geralt.” Jaskier snaps.

“I’m not injured enough to stop working.” Geralt explains, annoyed.

“And I'm not injured at all, technically." He adds when Geralt makes a move to comment on his exhaustion. 

"I’ll do it with you, then. Just... Don't use that arm." Jaskier grouses. Geralt still hesitates.

"Or are you too nervous about me being around your brother?” Jaskier asks.

"You don't have your training gloves on." Geralt points out, sidestepping that question.

"Point." Jaskier's riding gloves are far too delicate for brick hauling. Tearing a hole in them is the last thing he needs. 

"Well, give me yours then." Jaskier reasons.

Geralt gives a look that vividly describes how stupid an idea he thinks that is.

Jaskier doesn't give up, gesturing Geralt to hand them over. He does, with a sigh, so that Jaskier can find out the hard way.

It takes all of two minutes before Jaskier’s exhaustion eclipses his enthusiasm. He leans against Geralt, who is still moving bricks with his one bare hand. 

"I'm still objecting to you hiding your injury from me, and then working." Jaskier says, admitting defeat, but also not.

"You fuss too much." Geralt says.

"I fuss the perfect amount. You fuss too little." Jaskier counters.

"Having a lover's spat?” Lambert asks, jogging up to them, unrepentant.

“Let me handle this.” Jaskier says lowly, not caring if Lambert overhears despite his discretion.

“Yes,” Jaskier says, shortly. “Wait your turn.”

“Like I'd wait on you for anything.” Lambert says, grabbing Jaskier's arms and yanking Geralt's gloves off him roughly.

“Don't pretend you're as good as a Witcher at fixing our keep.” he says, holding the gloves up, then tossing them back to Geralt.

“Ow... I'm not. Be nice.” Jaskier says, looking wounded.

“You really are a complete snivelling weakling." Lambert sneers, and when doesn't get a rise out of either one continues. "'S that why Geralt likes you? You’re so soft and womanly he can pretend you are one?”

Jaskier levels him a withering look of annoyance. “Don't call women weak, dearie. They're soft, but don't mistake that for weak. I’m weak. The women Geralt likes best are usually at least twice as strong as I am.”

Lambert just stares at Jaskier a moment in confused disgust. “Geralt, your bard here has told me he's only half a man and a worse fuck than a woman twice now. Is he an idiot or just aware that he's a worm of a human being?” 

Geralt just stares out at the landscape and pretends he hasn't heard anything. Jaskier answers.

“Neither. I'm quite excellent at being me, and I'm fabulous, thank-you-very-much. The fact you don't know or care who I am isn't my problem, and I'm not going to go feeling insulted just so you can feel superior to me.”

“You're just happy being useless then?” Lambert scoffs.

Jaskier sighs in frustration and turns away from Lambert. Apparently this is a bad move.

“Useless twerps get thrown off the mountain.” Lambert says mock seriously, grabbing Jaskier by the collar and dangling him over the wall, where the ground falls away in a tumble of great boulders. 

"Geralt?!" Jaskier squarks, scrambling to hold onto Lambert, the wall, anything, panic overtaking him. "Handle it now, please. Help? Help me now. Geralt?!” 

"Lambert!" Geralt springs into action the moment Jaskier’s voice raises, and snarls as he encounters Lambert’s playful evasions, not willing to risk a fatal mistake with over extension. Eventually he hauls Jaskier back in, to safety. Puts distance between them and the wall.

“Enough.” Geralt growls at Lambert, putting Jaskier safely behind him, staring Lambert down murderously. Jaskier just collapses to his knees with the combination of exhaustion and fear.

“Fuck he stinks when he's scared. How do you stand being around such a coward all the time?” Lambert complains, looking at Jaskier disgustedly.

Jaskier holds Geralt’s clothing as a token restraint, even though he hadn't moved. “'He' ... doesn't stink very often. Because Geralt doesn't endanger my life for kicks, you sociopath. In fact he's quite protective of me. And I trust him to do so. So usually I smell quite nice, or so I'm told. ”

Then Lambert smells something else. Geralt’s rage. Geralt doesn't move, or talk, in fact he looks almost calm. This is his real fighting stance. He's facing down Lambert seriously, as if he was a monster on the Path. 

Lambert shifts from foot to foot. "I was just playing around. "

"There's some things that you don’t joke about." Jaskier says tiredly. "Killing me is one of them, apparently."

"News to me." Lambert counters, trying to backtrack.

"Congratulations, you finally got a rise out of both of us." Jaskier says, standing up shakily. 

"Geralt,” Jaskier says firmly, righting himself. “Vesemir is expecting me to help with dinner. If you'd be so kind to escort me?" Jaskier says, honestly not wanting to be alone, nor worry about what Geralt was getting up to left alone with Lambert right now.

"Fuck. Guess I'll go run the Killer again." Lambert says, realising how badly he screwed up. 

"Fix the fucking wall, Lambert." Geralt spits out venomously as he retreats, keeping an eye on Lambert the whole time.

"Right." Lambert says.

Geralt hears him muttering curses to himself as they leave.

When they get back to the kitchen Vesemir takes one look, and one sniff, and gets a good idea of what's happened. 

"I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise for whatever my idiot boy just did to you."  
Vesemir says. 

"Dangled him off the wall." Geralt grits out, carefully moving the arm he's just hurt again while scuffling with Lambert.

"Ah." Vesemir says. "Unfortunate. No worse than what I've done to many surly trainees though." He says as he contemplates the abject anger Geralt still bristles with.

"In punishment, because you needed them to obey if they were going to survive. " Geralt counters. "Not to get a rise .. not for fun."

"True." Vesemir says. "Lambert is a prick."

"What is his problem?" Jaskier asks. "I thought Witchers weren't prejudiced about... this sort of thing."

"Lambert doesn't like being caught off guard by things he doesn't understand, so he pokes at mysteries until they unravel, or explode. He doesn't understand your two's relationship, and he poked too hard, it appears." Vesemir explains. 

"You want me to talk to him?" Vesemir asks Geralt. 

"I don't want anyone to talk to him." Geralt says, still stretching. "For the rest of winter." He adds.

Jaskier looks between the two Witchers. "So, no one here is upset if... I mean, because Geralt and I are.. in love?" Jaskier asks, knowing the cat is definitely out of the bag at this point.

Vesemir takes a deep breath. "Those rules... come from another time, a different place, almost. They're designed to keep us safe, from accusations of bestiality as well as from getting distracted and killed because our hearts went soft. But that didn't work anyway, on either count. Loneliness, it turns out, can do the same thing to a Witcher, after a time. So, exceptions... can be made." He finishes consideringly. 

"A Witcher’s life should be simple." Geralt says, self reprimanding. 

"But no-one's life ever is, and expecting perfection is a fool's errand." Jaskier replies. 

"Spoken like a true poet." Vesemir smiles. "Well, if we've got that cleared up, these vegetables won't wash and chop themselves. Get to work. "

"Yes, sir." Jaskier replies. 

Vesemir raises an eyebrow. "You learn fast." He says approvingly. 

Preparation of dinner is comfortable after that. Filled with minor gossip and catch-up from a year apart. Pleasant smells and domestic bustle. The steady tap tap tap of a knife chopping vegetables on a cutting board.

Jaskier rests, listens, and almost falls asleep before dinner is finished cooking. Geralt smiling gently at him when he catches drooping eyes, a nodding head.

"You need a bath after dinner. Stay awake. " Geralt rumbles softly. 

Geralt doesn't catch it, but Vesemir smiles as softly at him, as he does at Jaskier. 

Jaskier blinks himself awake and they continue cooking.


	25. Good morning ... ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the typos, sick of not posting, and the embarrassment of posting so many typos will chase me into proof reading quicker than I would otherwise.
> 
> Lambert finds new and interesting ways to be a nuisance. Also description of medical conditions. Shrug, I try to warn well? . 
> 
> I try to tag, but I also tend not to write things that upset me personally, so comment please, if you think any chapter needs any extra content warnings.

.

Lambert didn't join them for dinner. Instead he worked on the wall by himself, until a brief snowfall interrupted him. By that time, Jaskier was full, clean, and tucked into bed with a lingering kiss. Dinner had been quiet, Jaskier was that exhausted. He insisted on still having his own bedroom though. For propriety. Geralt indulged him, amused, and put him in the empty room next to his own. 

Before Jaskier drops off to sleep, Geralt asks.

“How are you keeping your cool? Lambert keeps implying you're my sex toy. I can barely keep myself from punching his mouth shut.”

“He’s frankly giving me ideas.” Jaskier says saucily, eyes barely open.

“Really? That’s why you’re not getting upset?” Geralt asks, disbelieving. 

“No, not really.” Jaskier says, and huffs. “How do I explain? He’s never passed one of my songs off as his own, and frankly, never could. Nor could he sway judging panels away from favouring my work.” 

Geralt stays silent a while, thinking it though. “He can’t treat you as a Witcher, and if you treat him as a bard, he can never measure up to how infuriating Valdo Marx is.”

“Pretty much.” Jaskier says.

Geralt buries the exposed parts of Jaskier in little kisses, laughing lightly. “That’s glorious.” 

“Who’d have thought the human shit stain known as Valdo Marx would ever have a silver lining to his existence.” Jaskier adds, caressing Geralts face. Then yawns impressively. 

"Who'd have thought." Geralt smiles indulgently at his sleepy beloved. 

"Go to bed, I'll still be here in the morning." Jaskier says, making vague shooing motions.

"I will." Geralt says, but still stays with Jaskier until his breath evens out, and he slackens into the peace of sleep. Once he's seen that soft sleeping face, Geralt adjusts the blankets a little higher, banks the fire a little better, and then finally leaves to find his own bed, now he is certain Jaskier is safe and cosy.

..

So Jaskier is actually comfy and warm when morning finds him, sleeping peacefully in his assigned bed. The chill does little more than pinken the tip of his nose.

A weight on the bed beside him stirs him from slumber. Then a familiarly callused hand strokes his cheek gently. He nuzzles into it, smiling softly, and stretches out his ridiculously sore muscles languidly, with a groan of pain, a small frown forming between his eyebrows at the effort, face half covered by his soft, tousled brown hair, a flush of warmth from the pillow staining one cheek. As cute as a confused kitten.

"Good morning, beloved." He says, finally cracking his eyes open to the pale morning light. He sees Lambert’s impassive face staring back at him. 

With an involuntary rush of expelled breath, all of Jaskier's softness flees him, and he freezes, hands clutching his blankets. 

"What exactly did this gain you?" He asks warily, voice as deep, steady and hard as recent waking allows for. Eyes not leaving Lambert’s own, studying with cold focus every trace of expression, every movement, trying to out think Lambert in his sleep addled state. His heartbeat is racing. 

"Just waking you for breakfast, darling." Lambert says, with a strange smile. Jaskier can't tell what emotion hides behind it.

Geralt bursts through the door at this point, having heard unexpected voices from within. He sees Lambert’s position on the bed and Jaskier's hard look of distrust. 

"What are you doing?" Geralt asks, striding in tensely to face Lambert.

"Thought your nightingale might be hungry. Breakfast is on." Lambert says innocently. 

"So you came in and woke him." Geralt says. 

"With a hand on my face." Jaskier contributes, coldly.

"Oh, that's your job, isn't it Geralt? Sorry I usurped your place." Lambert stands and offers his seat to Geralt with a flourish. 

"Why are you doing this?" Geralt asks. 

"What? I'm not hurting him. I would never. I promise." Lambert says cockily. 

"You're damn right you're not." Geralt says. "We both know breakfast is on, so fuck off."

"Of course." Lambert says, and leaves with a little bow out the door. 

"What the fuck was that?" Jaskier asks, as soon as he thinks Lambert is out of hearing.

"More poking. Him working on the wall was his apology for his behaviour yesterday. But apparently that doesn't mean he's going to treat you right, yet. Just that he's not going to threaten you any more."

"Oh joy. Mystery pranks now. Good thing you're fantastic in bed, I wouldn’t put up with this for just anyone." Jaskier jokes, sourly.

"Ow ow ow." Jaskier says, trying to get up and finding all the muscles that he'd overused yesterday, walking up the trickier parts of the track .

"Geralt, I'm dying. My muscles have mutinied and are trying to kill me." Jaskier says, face half smooshed into the pillow where he gave up trying to sit and flopped back into bed.

"Let me have a look." Geralt says with fond annoyance at Jaskier’s drama.

"Ow!"  
"Ow ow ow." Jaskier says as Geralt presses every part of of his legs from the feet on up. "Geralt, I asked for your help in fixing me, not in finishing the murder."

"You're fine." Geralt rumbles, amused. 

"You call this agony 'fine'?" Jaskier asks, doing finger quotes awkwardly from his prone position on the bed.

"Yes, I do." Geralt says calmly, pressing his hands into various parts of Jaskier's abdomen, mysteriously.

"What the fuck does not fine.. ow.. look like then? My dear, cruel love?" Jaskier whines unhappily.

"You don't have any signs of rabdomeiolysis or deep vein thrombosis." Geralt explains, insufficiently. 

"Rab do what?" Jaskier asks. Medicine never was his strong suit.

"It's where your muscle tissue begins to break down, liquefy, and leak toxins into your blood, overwhelming your kidneys, and sometimes liver. In severe cases it can cause multiple organ failure and brain damage."

"Sweet Melitele. I forget how hard core you Witchers get." Jaskier breathes, stunned into a wide eyed poleaxe. 

Geralt kisses Jaskier on the temple indulgently. "You, have delayed onset muscle soreness. Drink water, have a hot bath and get a massage later, and you'll be all better in a day or two." Geralt says evenly.

"Would wine work as well as water in this case?" Jaskier asks, ever one to search out a less sober path to dealing with pain. He reluctantly lets go of the blankets and pulls multiple layers of clothing on, on top of his pyjamas.

"No Jaskier, and the higher the alcohol content, the worse an idea that is." Geralt chides. 

"Speaking of kidneys... Where the fuck is my piss?" Jaskier asks as he reaches under the bed. "Did Lambert empty my chamber pot?" 

Geralt hmms as he looks at the empty vessel Jaskier just unearthed from beneath the bed.

"What the hell is wrong with that bastard?" Jaskier asks in exasperation.

"Long story." Geralt grimaces.

"With many twists I'm sure," Jaskier quips sourly.

"Exactly. " Geralt says. 

"Oh well, as our resident weirdo said earlier, breakfast is on." Jaskier says, in resignation of ever understanding.

He pulls on his coat, and hobbles downstairs with Geralt.


	26. Lambert,  again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not edited well. Embarrassing myself into editing, again.

...  
Chapter break 

Breakfast was stilted, but calm. And very fortifying, thank goodness, since Jaskier was feeling quite damply dissipated by the cold, and the rigours of travel. 

Then Geralt and Lambert returned to helping Vesemir with winter preparations, while Jaskier was allowed a day of recovery, in consideration of his all too human body and limitations.

Lambert appears to have taken a policy of non aggression in the matter of The Bard, and doesn’t needle Geralt at all. Well, on that subject anyway.

When Geralt comes to find Jaskier for lunch, he's tucked back into bed, having snoozed and read by turns, his lute propped beside him, like a comfort toy. 

When he see all this soft warmth, Geralt sits on the bed and buries his cold face into Jaskier's chest, sniffing at his temperature sensitive skin, smelling his beer breath. He spots the empty pint beside the bed, and picks it up to show Jaskier that he's noticed.

"I said water." Geralt rumbles in admonishment. 

"Beer is mostly water." Jaskier counters peevishly. "I didn't open my wine." He gestures at the Fiorano.

Geralt hmms doubtfully, and looks Jaskier over to check his condition is indeed improving despite. 

"Did you leave your chamber pot unwashed?" Geralt asks Jaskier, unexpectedly. 

"No? I scrubbed it rather well after Lambert was touching it. I didn’t know what he’d done with it.” Jaskier says. 

Geralt leans over Jaskier, sniffing and frowning. "It's your lute. Your lute smells like piss."

"My what?" Jaskier startles, and smells for himself, detecting a distinctive unpleasant tang now that he's focussing on it. His face drops in horror.

"It's not the only thing in here that smells of piss." Geralt rumbles, brow furrowed as he keeps scenting the air.

"You're kidding. Lambert has been flinging my piss around the room?" Jaskier asks.

"Not flinging, very precise." Geralt says, as he sniffs around at various things.

"What the fuck? Like Lambert has been painting my piss onto things?" Jaskier asks, appalled. 

"Yes," says Geralt, grumpily.

"Why?!" Jaskier cries in confused horror.

"Scent marking?" Geralt hazards.

"Like, marking things as 'mine' with my piss, like I'm a tom cat marking his territory?" Jaskier asks. 

"Hmm," Geralt rumbles in perplexed agreement. 

"What the fuck? For one thing, I'm unlikely to notice these discreet markings, so this is a.. disgusting little riddle for your olfactory, not mine. But also... who does that?" Jaskier asks arms in the air, not really expecting an answer.

Has he only done it here? Or has he been in your stuff too?" Jaskier asks. And with that horrible thought, they both hurry off to Geralt's bedroom, Jaskier only stumbling slightly on his sore muscles as he swings himself out of bed. 

Jaskier, fairly uselessly, joins Geralt in the hunt for piss marks. It makes a rather ridiculous sight, the pair of them sniffing random objects.

"I can't find it.." Geralt comments irritably. 

"The point being that you don’t belong to me?" Jaskier deduces.

“No, it's here..." Geralt finally tracks it. "He put it on my underclothes.” Geralt says eventually. 

“Oh, so the message is that the only part of you I have a claim on is your cock." Jaskier reasons. 

“Also that we have no secrets from him.” Geralt extends.

"Fucking Lambert. Why can't he just use words, like normal people." Jaskier complains. "Is this a Witcher thing? Is Eskel disinclined to communicate on a verbal level too?" 

"No, he's not afraid of telling people things right to their face." Geralt says, frowning.

"It'll make a nice change. So, list what I'm marked on. What do I own?" Jaskier asks sourly. 

"You're good for fancy wine, fancy clothes, fucking, sleeping, and music." Geralt says. Jaskier is annoyed to notice Geralt’s amusement. 

"Is that all you think of me?" Jaskier huffs.

Geralt folds him into a soothing hug. "No, but I must say he's figured out your major interests pretty quickly. Besides, are you really that upset?"

"Not nearly as much as I am that he put piss on my lute." Jaskier says. "That's not just beyond the pale, that's beyond the entire fucking palisade."

"I assume you have a retaliation in mind." Geralt sighs in resignation, knowing Jaskier too well to try dissuading hi.. 

"Yes. But not one likely to lead to violence. You know I hate pain." Jaskier says, correctly sizing up Lambert’s capacity for violence.

"And yet, the bar fights. " Geralt grumbles.

"You know I never mean to start those. I just. I'm passionate... and impulsive." Jaskier admits.

Geralt agrees with a smile, and an amused hmm. 

"But this plan is more careful." Jaskier continues, contemplating. "Lambert thinks he's better than me, more clever, more moral, more useful."

"Fair assessment." Geralt says. 

"Good, I have a plan." Jaskier replies, a hard glint in his eyes that Geralt isn't sure whether to admire, or fear.

...

Jaskier set his lute as a centrepiece to dinner, while still taking over as many kitchen duties as possible, his one task of the day.

Jaskier waits on everyone in the dining room at supper. Imitating fine dining butlers with aplomb as he serves food and drink.

It's a fine performance, and Vesemir is amused by the anecdotes that accompany it.

"And now, some music."

Jaskier uses his 

Starting with a few very old songs. Then moving on, to an elven song, precise and beautiful with a complex, syncopated shifting harmony. Basically, he's showing off. And it works.

Then he moves on, to a tawdry bawdy song. 

"Those were the days, Tomcatting around, leaving my -" wink at Lambert, "kisses, all over town."

Lambert snorts in amusement. Unsuspecting what's coming next.

"Although, it's a little disrespectful for me to sing such a bawdy song, on such an important cultural artefact." Jaskier muses faux-casually. 

"Cultural artefact. Just because it's Elven make." Lambert sneers, drinking more ale. 

"Oh, you don't know?" Jaskier raises a careful eyebrow. "This was given to me by Filavandrel himself. I gather that the artisan who created it for him was a master of the art, one of his last great works before retiring. A Stradaverta of the elves, if you will." Jaskier says, with careful cadence, emphasising how important this lute is.

"Bullshit." Lambert says, looking unsure of himself.

Jaskier continues to pin him with his deceptively calm gaze. "Given to me, as a peace offering, after his soldiers had tied me up, beaten me, and broken my own lute." Jaskier continues, slowly, deliberately. Then he feigns confusion.

"How can you not know this story by now? The first song I wrote on it was Toss a Coin, and the lyrics are all about what happened that day. Rather.. disparaging of his people, the lyrics." Jaskier says regretfully. "But it was supposed to convey that he was ... no threat, and should be left alone. Best I could do for him, in the circumstances. I was just a kid at the time. Not a patch on my later works." Jaskier says, thoughtfully. 

Lambert, staring back irritably now, doesn't manage to marshal a flippant comment before Jaskier continues.

"I suppose you /could also call it a personal memento, from the day I met Geralt. The day I started on my long journey to becoming his friend." Jaskier says. 

Lambert snorts derisively.

"Don't deny I am that, before I am anything else, I am that." Jaskier says sharply, eyes locked fiercely on Lambert’s. And Lambert’s head cocks to the side in interest at Jaskier’s sharp, well controlled anger, because that's the first spine he's shown since getting there.

"But really, it's what started it all. The improvement of the reputation of Witchers. My elven song cycle extemporising on the hypocrisy and cruel tragedy of inter racial war. Everything that came from this one gift. This master crafted lute from Filavandrel, started all of that." Jaskier says, delicately stroking the lacquered finish.

"That, dear Lambert, is why I call this lute a cultural artefact." Jaskier contemplates. "This is a peace offering, that I tried very hard to honour, by making songs that are a peace offering to Filavandrel on, in return."

Jaskier’s eyes flick to Lambert’s momentarily before he continues, with cold rebukr. 

"Your twisted-to-kinks mind may get titillation from the idea that I'm a lust addled tom cat, a animalistic Libertine, who'd piss on my pleasures to show ownership. But please, have some respect for Vesemir, he has to live here. And show some respect to Filavandrel, and his gracious gift." 

"Right." Lambert says. Accepting his censure.

"Good. I'm here for almost three months. And treating me like a toy to amuse yourself through Winter has already become tiresome for everyone else. Look down on me as much as you like. But don't make life unpleasant for you fellow Witchers. They deserve a place of rest and safety in this cruel world, and you're fucking everyone over if stop it from being that."

"Like you know what it's like." Lambert sneers.

"So tell me. Words Lambert. I thought you were the clever one. Use your words to tell me what your problem is with me, and I'll do my best not to piss you off further. I'm not here to cause trouble, or judge you, or sing your secrets to the world. I just want safety, among people I trust. And I thought you'd appreciate that. I thought you'd be one of them."

Lambert, uncharacteristically, manages to hold his tongue, and not say anything stupid before he can think it through. "Don't touch my still. " he says eventually. Able to at least define and put into words a small part of his problem with Jaskier. 

"Easily done. Don't know where it is." Jaskier says smoothly, then he smiles warmly. "Good start, I look forward to more, once you're ready to tell me."

Lambert nods. "You're still a pansy, weakling fop." He adds.

"Absolutely. " Jaskier says. "It's why I write such good songs. Want another one?"

"Toss a coin." Lambert says, to piss off Geralt. 

"Gladly." Jaskier says and sings it into Geralt's ears.


End file.
